


Sand and Silk

by Hannaadi88



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harem, FrUs - Freeform, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, UKUS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 41,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannaadi88/pseuds/Hannaadi88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slavery takes on many forms- enslavement of the mind, bondage of the body and subjugation of the will. In a time when flesh is sold for money, free will is a luxury that only the rich may enjoy. Harem AU, UKUS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Market, To Market

Dust weighed heavily in the air like a thick blanket, covering Alfred from head to toe. It stuck to his skin under the heat of the blaring sun, irritating his eyes and throat. Alfred wished that he could brush the dust away or at the very least shield his eyes but his hands were tied behind his back. The most he could do was shut his eyes against the newest gust of dusty wind and hope that a sandstorm wouldn't follow.

Had he been free from his chains Alfred would have joined the men talking quietly in the tent, shielded from the wind and the beating sunlight. He would have thankfully accepted a glass of chilled wine and would lie back on his couch, discussing market rates and possible private trades. There was nothing like spending the afternoon in the company of friends.

But  _oh,_ the wine sounded nice. Even a glass of water would have been quite welcome. Alfred brushed his tongue over his dry lips. It stung against the dry wind, but the only solution would be to wet them all over again.

Yes, Alfred would have done many things had his hands been freed. But at the time, perhaps even more pressing than the dryness in his throat, was the constant buzzing in his ears. Alfred jerked his body sharply with a sigh when he felt another fly rest upon his shoulder.

He couldn't take it anymore. The heat, the dust, the flies...even the smell was unbearable. There were other people sitting in the same closed off section as he was, all hot and sweaty and inevitably rancid. They were all strangers, however, and hadn't met each other before they were led by their owners into the same pin. There was no point in striking conversation or being friendly- chances were that they would never see each other again.

To be sure, the slave market was a miserable place, especially for those slaves who were often traded for as little as three jars of oil. The overwhelming majority of the patrons did not linger. Sending a trusted slave to purchase new slaves for the household was a common practice.

There were some men, however, who enjoyed the market. The scent of despair and the thrill of the bid drew them to the auction block. Those were usually the kind of masters one wouldn't want to end up with.

Hours had passed since Alfred had been led into the compound. The overbearing silence was maddening. Sitting around quietly in the dirt and simply  _waiting_ for the auction to start… patience was never one of his virtues, to say the least.

Alfred took a deep breath. This was an ordeal he had promised himself never to go through again, but here he was, hating every moment of it.

He had messed up. Of course he had. That was why he was in the market with red marks across his back instead of at the villa with Matthew, where he belonged. At this time of day they would have been setting the table for his master's late breakfast before cleaning the courtyard with his brother. Now he would never see him again.

"Get up, all of you!"

Alfred's legs obeyed automatically without much thought. He scrambled to his feet along with the rest of the slaves and looked up with guarded eyes at the trader, a Nubian with dark hair and at the moment, a comical frown.

"Form a line and follow me," he barked and nodded when the group did as they were told. Alfred stood behind a trembling young woman and began the long trudge toward the platform, careful not to trip over his own chains.

Alfred tried to ignore the looks. Passerby shoppers had the tendency to glance and even stop to stare. What he hated the most, though, were the smug smiles or even worse, blatant disinterest. Despite himself, Alfred turned his head when he heard a small noise to his left. A little girl had stopped her mother and pointed at the chain of shackled slaves, eyes wide as saucers and her mouth agape.

He smiled at the girl, but before she could respond the mother had hurried her along, sending Alfred a dirty look.  _Slaves shouldn't be seen or heard,_ the look clearly stated.  _Do not call unnecessary attention to yourself._

Alfred's smile faded and he quickly turned his gaze forwards, noting that they had almost reached the auction platform. The first few slaves were unchained from the rest of the group, presumably belonging to the same owner, and were led up the wooden stairs and onto the stage. They stood stiffly as the auctioneer silenced the gathering crowd and commenced the bidding.

The anxiety of knowing that he would have to stand up there next and be scrutinized by a large crowd made Alfred's stomach churn, but as the hour passed and it was finally his turn to climb up, he held his chin high and stared over the crowd's heads.

Alfred had been the only one his owner had sent to be sold. Alfred could feel the crowd's eyes on him and he shifted nervously. Otherwise, he tried his best to block out the voices which asked questions and made demands.

The auctioneer cleared his throat and approached him, reading the plaque around his neck before grabbing his arm and raising it so that everyone could see. "Here we have a young man- twenty three years of age and in perfect health. Strong and sturdy with all his teeth and limbs intact. Ideal for manual labor."

He turned to fully face the crowd, regarding them for a moment before calling out. "Who will give me one thousand  _denar_?"

The bidding had started.

Admittedly, Alfred was not as stoic as his blank face would have liked to indicate to the crowd. Just like any other slave led onto the block, he dreaded the silence which would follow the starting bid should he not be desirable. Nobody wanted to end up in a quarry.

Alfred needn't have worried, though; voices called out one after the other, raising the bid bit by bit with every offer. Alfred's posture relaxed. Just a little.

The bidding had reached the three thousand when a loud and clear voice announced, "five thousand  _denar_."

Alfred lowered his eyes from sheer curiosity, searching for the man who had called out. Five thousand  _denar_ was extremely expensive for a single slave. He wasn't entirely sure if he felt flattered. After a short search, it was easy to spot the man, as the crowd had parted around him in order for the auctioneer to seek him out.

There was nothing remarkable about the man. Pale skin, light blond hair beneath his turban and green eyes: a common enough combination for the region. He was neither remarkably tall nor short, at least from Alfred's perspective on the platform, and according to his slim build he could have easily been a nobleman who had not toiled a single day in his life.

There went the hope to work for someone he respected, Alfred thought glumly.

Alfred was led off the platform and into the shaded area where slaves waited to be paid for and claimed by their new owners. He leaned back against a wall, preferring to stand what with his legs still chained and waited for the general auction to be over. By the time the trader had entered the walled-off waiting area accompanied by the bidders, the sunlight had begun to fade.

Alfred spotted the man who had bid on him and waited to be approached but it appeared that the stranger had bid on other slaves as well. He inspected them carefully, asking them questions in a low voice before nodding at the trader to set them aside for him. When he finally approached Alfred, he looked slightly weary.

"I hope this one doesn't stutter as well, Elrien," the man shot the trader a pointed look.

The trader shook his head firmly and narrowed his eyes at Alfred. "Go on, boy. Say something. Tell  _Mr._ Kirkland what you can do."

Alfred looked silently between the two men.

"Well, out with it! We don't have all day!" the trader snapped.

Alfred glanced up at the bidder uneasily. "I can cook," he stated, understanding from the silence which followed that he should continue. He squared his shoulders. "I can clean and play the flute, and in the past I have been dictated letters by my previous master."

This seemed to have caught the bidder's interest. He looked up and studied Alfred's face carefully. "Does that mean that you can read and write?" he inquired, genuinely curious.

Alfred nodded, which only made the man look even more pleased. He reached out and grabbed his chin, studying his features with a satisfied smile.

"Both handsome and intelligent, then. It would seem that I got you for a good price," he observed smugly before letting go of Alfred's face and straightening up to discuss payment with the trader. Alfred watched them both with furrowed brows as they shook hands, sealing the deal.

Alfred would have liked to have claimed that he knew all kind of owners and what to expect from day one, but he couldn't figure this man out.

For one, the bidder didn't look like a master or a nobleman with the cream colored tunic he was wearing. Wealthy men liked to flaunt their good fortune by walking around in pure white linen. They wouldn't be so familiar with the traders and merchants from whom they purchased their wares, either.

Alfred was led towards the group of waiting slaves and was chained to the last one in line by the neck. He hated the collars, but he knew that they were only temporary. It still sat heavily on his shoulders, however, and the sweat that was quick to gather beneath it made his skin itch.

The bidder looked them over with a satisfied nod before motioning for the man beside him to grab the chain and lead them out of the compound.

So they walked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 20/5/15: Chapters have been edited. I hope they will make for a smoother read :)
> 
> (if you'd like to follow me on tumblr, here is the link to my blog. I'd be happy to answer questions and accept prompts! 
> 
> http://hannaadi88.tumblr.com/)


	2. Not Just Another Pretty Face

"Follow me."

The duration of the journey had been short and relatively easy. It appeared that Alfred's new master lived close to town, which translated de facto into a few hours at most, even with the periodical stop for water. He hadn't seen the green eyed man ever since the latter had stepped into a litter with thick curtains to block the sun, but Alfred didn't mind.

The man had unnerved him during their brief encounter and if he did turn out to be his master, they would be seeing much of each other in the near future. Depending on Alfred’s assignment, that is. He could very well end up never seeing the man again, which would admittedly put his mind to rest.

Alfred’s focus wasn't on the elaborate litter, not really. His interest quickly shifted, and it was now focused on the people surrounding him.

They were all beautiful. Every single one of the slaves who had been purchased alongside him was particularly easy on the eyes. True, they were all dirty, hot and in dire need of rest, but beneath the layer of dust, fair skin was clearly visible. Weary eyes of striking colors would regard Alfred guardedly and thick hair would be tucked away at every opportunity in order to cool off.

Alfred was eager to speak with them and to get to know the people he would be living and working with. It never hurt to have an ally in a new environment. By the look of things during their stops, however, some of the people already knew each other. They must have been sold by a different trader, Alfred noted, as he hadn't seen them in his own compound.

His enthusiasm and wide smile were misplaced. The harder he tried to strike up a conversation as they stood in line for water, the more the men and women would keep to themselves. There was nothing entertaining about travelling to a new house of bondage.

There was no reason to pretend to be happy.

Yes, the journey had been quick. But when the group reached the walls of the villa, Alfred wished that he had had more time to adjust to the idea of a new master. Slaves didn't usually change hands more than twice during their lifetime, and here he was starting all over again for the third time. The fact only served to prove a theory Alfred had settled on when he had been sold the first time- he was simply an unlucky man.

Not one who was cursed by the heavens, but one who tried to do the right thing and would make a mess of it, no matter how good his intentions were. Perhaps with this new start he should learn from experience and stop trying to control his fate and just let it happen on its own accord.

Alfred pursed his lips and closed his eyes. He really ought to stop dwelling- it only served to make himself more miserable than he already was. He would try to be more confident. Happier.

 Upon entering the villa he had been unchained from the group and led to the slaves'  _hamam_  where he had washed the dirt off of his skin and was given a fresh new tunic to wear. He had been surprised by the quality of the cloth and had felt it between his thumbs before looking up at the slave who had handed it to him.

"You've made a mistake," he stated with a twang of regret in his voice. He extended his hand with the tunic and made to hand it back. "This can't be for me."

The attendant had laughed, much to Alfred's bewilderedness and looked at him slyly.

"I was surprised too at first. Master Bonnefoy is a man of grandeur, however, and insists on having everyone in his household finely dressed. Between you and me," the boy had leaned close and lowered his voice with a traitorous smile, "master Bonnefoy spends more than he ought to on luxurious for himself and his favorites. But you won't hear me complaining."

The boy chuckled again and pushed the tunic back against Alfred's chest. "Take it. Take good care of it, since it's the only one you'll get until you're promoted."

Well, Alfred wasn't about to complain, either. The cloth felt soft against his skin as he walked and the dark red color was the richest he had ever been allowed to wear, even when he had lived with his family in the capital.

The loose pants were identical in color and comfort to the tunic and Alfred couldn't help but bite back a smile as he continued to follow the attendant. He was clean, finely dressed and was going to serve in an elaborately decorated home. Now all he needed was to eat.

"You will be working in the kitchens," the boy informed him brusquely, leading him through colorful rooms until they came to a stop in a long vestibule with arches opening to a large sleeping hall with mattresses and pillows spread across the floor.

He gestured to one of the arches and nodded his head in the new direction. "This is where you will sleep. You may explore your quarters. Meals are served in the slaves' dining hall. You have the rest of the day off and will report tomorrow morning to the kitchens. Feel free to ask anyone for directions. Any questions?"

Alfred was about to shake his head and let the boy run off to do his work, but the man who had purchased him came to mind and he simply had to set his facts straight.

"Yes, actually. Master Bonnefoy...what does he look like? Light blond hair, green eyes? Shortish?"

The boy looked at him strangely. "No, he has blue eyes and is rather tall. Are you sure you aren't thinking of the overseer? Mr. Kirkland?"

The name sounded familiar.

"So he isn't the master of the household?" Alfred asked, though his already knew the answer. No man who had such riches would demean himself to go shopping in the marketplace like any other commoner. He'd send his slave to do so for him, just like he had observed countless times before.

The man (Kirkland, he now clearly remembered) who had looked at him in such an objectifying way wasn't his master after all. A wave of relief, as well as curiosity, washed over him.

"No," the boy grinned. “Mr. Kirkland is not our owner.”

Alfred raised a brow and was about to inquire what it was that he found so entertaining, but the boy had shaken his head with a secretive smile and turned to leave. Alfred looked after him with an irritated frown- it seemed that all the slaves around here were in on some secret they wouldn't share with him. So much for a warm welcome.

 

.x.

 

The mattress had been enchantingly inviting when Alfred had settled down upon it, all too satisfied with his days' work. Two weeks had passed since he had entered the villa's threshold and he had already made friends within the kitchen staff.

Seeing as he was inexperienced when it came to the fancy dishes the master liked, Alfred had been taken under one of the cooks' wing and was being apprenticed into dessert specialty.

His days were full of halva, sesame cakes and fig tarts, or at least attempts at them.

Ashai made preparing them look easy, but once the bowl was transferred into his hands, Alfred would add too much salt or burn the dough. He was making progress, however, and Ashai had proclaimed that he had great hopes for him. As a cook and as a friend, for Ashai wasn't that much older than Alfred himself.

"You've been here for a while, Alfred," Ashai said softly as he lay down on his own mattress beside Alfred's in the kitchen's division of the sleeping hall. "What do you think of the villa? The people? Your assignment?"

Alfred turned onto his side and gave Ashai a thoughtful look.

"This is easily the most magnificent place I have worked in so far," he said slowly, looking up at the marble columns that even decorated the slaves' quarters.

"I enjoy working in a large place. There is always someone new to meet- in my previous master's home, we were only fifteen slaves. The only reason he could afford to keep us was because he had inherited a fortune from his uncle."

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. No, he hadn't liked his previous master at all, even more so when he had falsely accused him of seducing his daughter. He'd been lucky to have left the man's manor with his head.

"I enjoy what I do, so far. But I haven't left the lower floors in days."

There hadn't been any need for Alfred to venture up to the master's rooms and halls on the higher floors- he may be a house slave, but he didn't clean or serve the master directly. He was in the kitchens all day.

"I've never even met the people I prepare food for. It's a dramatic change from my previous masters to whom I catered night and day. It will take me some time to adjust."

Ashai nodded his head sympathetically.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it in time. I came from a village myself, so the transition was twice as hard for me. Everything was huge!"

Alfred chuckled at that.

If there was something Bonnefoy enjoyed aside from extravagance and good food, it was the constant additions and renovations of his villa. The rooms were indeed the size of some houses. Alfred wouldn't have been surprised if the palace of the Shah himself looked similar to the Bonnefoy villa.

"So who's in charge here? Anyone I need to watch out for?" Alfred added playfully, all too delighted when the trademarked secretive smile all the Bonnefoy slaves had appeared on Ashai's face.

"In matter of fact, yes, there is," he informed Alfred quietly, looking over his shoulder before scooting closer next to the other man.

"Master Bonnefoy may own us all, but he's too occupied with his harem and guests to pay any attention to those who work on the lower floors. That's why he has Arthur Kirkland supervise us all and manage the finance of the household. If there's someone you don't want to catch you when you're breaking the rules, it's him. He has a terrible temper and walks around with a permanent frown on his face. He's too young for such a cynical personality."

Alfred perked up at the mentioning of Kirkland.

"Really? When I met him, he smiled at me," he pondered, twisting the truth somewhat. Smirking didn't sound half as good. "He didn't look that young to me. How old is he?"

"Twenty seven," Ashai said solemnly, fully expecting the wide eyes and doubting tone to Alfred's voice.

"What? That can't be! Why would master Bonnefoy entrust the management of his household to someone so young?"

The secretive smile was back on Ashai's face. "Because he's his illegitimate son. At least, that's what I heard," he added quickly, noticing the scandalized expression on Alfred's face.

They argued about Ashai's sources for the tale, who admitted that he heard quite a few variations of it ever since entering Bonnefoy's service, but in the end they settled on agreeing to disagree. Alfred refused to believe that the confident and infuriating man he had met in the market was the son of a disgraced harem wife.

It just didn't make sense.

 

.x.

 

An air of excitement followed Alfred as he carefully balanced the plate of sweets in his hands while he walked up the stairs. He had made a perfect batch of almond cookies and had been allowed to deliver them personally to the harem.

This was his first time in the living quarters and as he walked down the richly carpeted halls, he couldn't help but stare at every turn. He had grown used to the aesthetics of the slaves' quarters, but the upper floors consisted of one lap of luxury after the other.

The harem wing was easily accessible from the kitchens and soon enough he was guided by a large eunuch through silken curtains and padded seats. Women in bright chemises and transparent veils were lounging on couches sipping wine or sitting in corners, whispering together in hushed voices. The strong fragrance of perfume permeated the air, rivaling the exotic scent of the fruits offered to the women on every table.

It was true, then- master Bonnefoy saved no expense when it came to his harem. Every girl was treated like a queen and many of them acted like one, snapping at slaves for the smallest mistakes. It was as if they forgot that they had once been on the auction block themselves.

The rooms, while almost overbearingly beautiful, made Alfred uneasy. He hated the demeaning looks he felt on his back as he passed the women and the heady mixture of aromas clouded his mind. He suddenly felt a strong urge to be back down in the kitchen with the sweet smell of fresh bread and honeyed cakes.

However, as he set the plate of cookies down on one of the tables, a stab of jealousy pierced through him. Most of these women used to be slaves as well and the only reason why they weren't toiling in the baths or sweeping floors was due to their natural beauty. Their pretty faces had earned them a lifetime of luxury without working for their position at all.

Alfred had labored in every household he had been brought into, but no one had ever eased his way for him for his looks. Admittedly, there was nothing particularly striking about him, but the large collection of beauty in closed quarters rubbed him the wrong way.

"You! I've seen you before!"

Alfred straightened up and turned around quickly, careful to bow low to the lady who addressed him before looking up and almost gasping in surprise.

One of the women he had travelled with in the small group to the villa was sitting in front of him, well-groomed and glowing from care. Her foreign blond hair had a new sheen to it and her lips had been painted red behind her veil. She rested on a large couch full of cushions and silken pillows, dressed in fabric so finely woven that it left nothing to the imagination.

Alfred averted his eyes at first, but curiosity trumped his embarrassment and he turned to face the woman fully.

"Yes, we were purchased on the same day," he reminded her quietly, slightly pleased at the rise of color in the woman's cheeks. Their previous lives before entering the harem were probably rarely mentioned.

She stiffened and narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, yes. I remember you. We were wondering about you, you know, when you were separated from us when we first arrived. We thought you'd be part of the harem too."

It was Alfred's turn to hide his emotions.

"To whom do you refer to by 'we', my lady?" Alfred frowned, looking closely at the woman's face.

Her smile was smug when she answered him, lying back against the pillows lazily.

"By 'we' I mean the group, of course. We were all brought here right away. You have been selected for a different purpose, it seems. Pity," she reached out and helped herself to a cookie from Alfred's platter.

She ran over his uniform with her eyes. "You're in the kitchens now, I gather? Well, I'm sure you're a credit to your assignment," she finished with a pretty smirk, waving her hand in dismissal. "You may leave."

Stung by the cleverly disguised insults, Alfred make a quick bow and hurried out of the room, out of the harem quarters and back down the stairs to his sleeping hall, hoping Ashai would cover up for him until he returned to the kitchens.

His head hurt. Out of the whole group that had been purchased on the same day as him, he was the only one who had been sentenced to slavery in the traditional sense of the word. The rest of them had been welcomed into the harem and pampered ever since they set foot in the villa.

It was hardly like Alfred _wanted_ to offer his body to a perfect stranger like an expensive prostitute and sit around all day doing nothing. The insults had followed him, however, and the blatant exclusion winded him.

He had been clearly disqualified from entry to the harem and had been thrown into one of the kitchens instead. He wasn't good enough.

_Fuck it._


	3. Summons

Alfred had gotten used to the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, as well as to the heavy blanket of heat from the ovens following him everywhere he turned. When he would leave on an errand, even the warm desert air was cool in comparison.

Despite the heat, the human warmth and the aroma of baked goods would draw Alfred back time after time. His daily goals to master a new recipe or to befriend a kitchen worker he had yet to speak to would keep him inside for hours upon hours.

Seeing how many hours he spend indoors, it was a wonder that he maintained his coloring, as Ashai pointed out one day as they were sprinkling salt over the meat for the master's evening meal.

"They usually go pale by now," Ashai maintained while studying Alfred's dark features, who in turn shrugged. The hours he had spent under the sun in the fields for his first master must have left their mark on his skin.

Ashai shook his head and set the salt dish aside. "We should probably spice this up," he suggested and stretched over the limestone counter in order to reach the cumin on the top shelf. Ashai was vertically challenged, as he put it, and Alfred couldn't help but smile broadly at the comical display whether it was intentional or not on his friend's part.

Ashai turned his head and glared at him, lowering his outstretched arms and allowing them to drop at his sides. "Well then, oh tall and mighty one. I'd like to see you reaching that."

Not one to back down from a challenge, Alfred leaned forward and reached for the top shelf as well, easily clutching the dish with his fingers and pulling it down. He offered it to Ashai with a flourish.

"With pleasure," he said sweetly, biting back a smug smile. Ashai grinned widely and snatched the dish from Alfred's hand.

"You bastard," he shook his head while sprinkling a dash of the cumin on the meat.

Alfred simply chuckled and bent down to pick up the basin he had filled with dirty dishes during the day. "You know it!" he confirmed cheerfully as he turned towards the exit, prepared to deposit the basin with the maids.

He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"You're Alfred, right?"

Alfred turned around and readjusted his hold on the basin. "Yes I am," he nodded, studying the other man. He was younger than him and if Ashai had been wondering about Alfred's tanned skin, he would have been amazed by the pasty white coloring of this slave.

Both were unnatural in their environment.

The contrast applied to their clothes as well- Alfred's uniform may have been new, but the hours he spent near the ovens dulled the sheen. This boy, however, was wearing a neatly pressed tunic with golden buttons. The only indication that he was a slave was that Alfred had seen his uniform before.

"How may I help you?" Alfred asked cautiously, maintaining a small smile. From his limited experience with the harem, he had no wish to venture there again. His curiosity had been sated for decades.

Apparently the heavens didn't see it that way.

The harem slave looked relieved.

"Oh good. I thought I would never find you- the mistress didn't give me much to go on. Oh, the mistress!" he worried his lip, meeting Alfred's eyes anxiously.

"My mistress has requested that you serve her the evening meal. She asked that you come at once." By the frightened look in the young man's eyes, it was obvious that he had experienced her displeasure at his failings before. "Please come."

Alfred frowned and set the basin back down on the floor. This may take a while.

He didn't know anyone in the harem aside from the concubine who had insulted him weeks before- it was probable that she was the one who had requested him. He was in no mood to be tormented, but an order was an order. He would only be punished if he refused and would bring the woman's fury on her slave's head as well.

If Alfred was boring enough and wouldn’t rise to her provocations, perhaps she would tire of him and let him be.

"Alright. I'll go."

 

.x.

 

Laline, as her name turned out to be, had a knack for trampling over delicate eggshells. Information was her weapon and she would use it against anyone she wanted to harm. Flattery and obedience would only get you so far- if you wanted to please the master's newest plaything, gossip was your currency.

Unfortunately, Alfred had none.

She did, though. Snide remarks and sweetened insults flowed as he served her, doing his best to maintain a straight face. Alfred couldn't figure out what she wanted from him.

Did she want him to inform her on the kitchen help? Did she see him as a threat? Or perhaps female spite was the only thing she had to dwell on when the master didn't spend his nights with her? Was her appeal wearing off?

Whatever the reason was, Laline had targeted him and planned on making his life miserable the moment she ordered him to come back the next day. If this venom was to be portioned out to him daily, Alfred almost regretted complying in the first place. One large punishment was preferable to recurring torment.

As he exited the left wing, Alfred allowed the forced smile to fade from his face and a frustrated scowl take its place.

He refused to stand there and do nothing as Laline vented her anger on him. Perhaps she would think twice about having him serve her every evening if her soup was too sweet or her humus replaced with tahini.

With renewed determination Alfred turned the corner, his muscles relaxing as he went through the familiar corridor which lead to his dormitory. It was dark and only a few torches lit up the hall. No one would mind if he were to skip dinner- there would be more for everyone else. The only unfamiliar quality to the normally noisy hall was the blaring silence.

Everyone must be eating, then.

But no- it wasn't completely silent. At the far end two figures were arguing in hushed voices, just loud enough to hear the angry tone.

Alfred paused a short distance from them, looking hesitantly at the doorway to his right. He knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping, but information was an important bargaining tool. If he just happened to overhear the right discussion, maybe he wouldn't have to ruin Laline's food after all.

Before he could hear anything worthwhile, however, one of the figures raised his head and spotted him, resting his sharp gaze on him. Alfred froze, ready to run if he had to, but the man didn't call out or alert his companion. Instead, he cut the other off mid -sentence and finished their conversation with a gruff promise to add an extra bag of gold for his silence.

The companion nodded and walked away in the other direction, oblivious to Alfred's presence. The man who had spotted him lingered, keeping his eyes on Alfred and signaling for him to stay where he was. The moment the other was out of hearing range, the stranger allowed himself to speak.

"You there! Come here immediately," he ordered with a strong tone of authority. Even if he had wanted to escape, it was obvious that the stranger was a higher up. It wouldn't be wise to run off quite yet. Gingerly Alfred walked over to the man, studying him as his features cleared in the torchlight.

Kirkland hadn't been on his mind for weeks, but there he was again, standing in front of him and scrutinizing his face just like at the market. His eyes were the same shade of green as before.

"I remember you," Kirkland cut off his line of thought, raising his brows at him. "You're the literate one."

Alfred nodded, smiling hesitantly. The smile quickly disappeared as Kirkland's assessing gaze turned critical.

"Well then. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Alfred blinked. "What do you mean, sir?" he asked slowly. The question only incited the other, however, as he snapped impatiently at him.

"What were you doing walking the halls alone at this hour? You should be in the dinner hall."

"I was returning from the harem, sir," Alfred said slowly, unable to read Kirkland's mood. He didn't know what to say to please him. He didn’t want to be punished. "I was serving dinner."

It was Kirkland's turn to look surprised. "Serving dinner?" he looked down at Alfred's uniform, "but you work in the kitchens. The eunuchs are supposed to do that."

Alfred frowned. "I know that, sir. I was requested specifically by one of the women to serve her."

"I see," Kirkland looked at him thoughtfully, the hostile gleam in his eyes tranquilized for the time being. "How curious."

The man turned silent, studying Alfred in the dim light. It made him uncomfortable despite the fact that the looming threat had passed. It felt like eternity by the time Kirkland snapped out of whatever thinking process he had been contemplating and smiled a satisfied smile at him.

"Yes, I think you'll do. Please report to my office tomorrow evening. You might just be of use to me," he determined with a short nod.

Before Alfred could protest, Kirkland had turned and walked away, the golden thread on his dark brown tunic reflecting the torchlight. There was no room for questioning his will.

Perhaps he could ruin Kirkland's food instead.

 

.x.

 

"Come in."

Alfred pushed open the wooden door and walked into the small room, closing the door behind him.

The room, while small, had a cozy feeling to it created by the imported Persian carpeting and the blazing fire in the hearth. Scrolls and manuscripts were spread across Kirkland's desk and were carefully sorted on a shelf next to the painted wall. The only chill came from Kirkland's cold smile.

"Oh yes," he looked up from the parchment on his desk and set down his quill. "Sit down," Kirkland gestured to the empty chair opposite him.

Alfred took his seat with as much calm as he could muster, but nothing could disguise the nervousness in his voice. "You asked me to come, sir...?"

Kirkland nodded. "So I did. I have a proposition for you- what did you say your name was?"

Alfred sat up straight in his chair, fully alert. This was the first time anyone had asked for his opinion on his appointment. Who consulted a slave if he would like to do his job?

"Alfred, sir," he answered dutifully, trying to keep his curiosity at bay.

"Right then, Alfred. I have been in need of an assistant to help me manage the household account. Obviously said assistant needs to be able to read and calculate numbers as well as write them down. This is where you come in," he paused, measuring Alfred sharply. "Can you read this?"

Alfred looked down at the parchment Kirkland had turned around to face him and glanced at the pointed phrase.

"'Master Bonnefoy," he read aloud. Warmth spread through his cheeks at the other's pleased smile.

"Continue reading," Kirkland prompted as he pushed back from the desk and stood up, walking around the table to stand behind Alfred, his head hovering over his shoulder as he made sure that Alfred was reading correctly.

Alfred could read perfectly well, but Kirkland's lingering presence behind his chair unnerved him- Kirkland had a knack for doing just that.

Nevertheless Alfred continued to read out account after account of various purchases made during the previous week, some rather mundane such as food and wine. Others, such as gold or fine fabric were far more exotic to the ear.

Alfred had started an account of a recent purchase of figs when he felt a sudden weight on his shoulders. His body stiffened at the warmth bleeding out of Kirkland's hands and stopped his reading.

His reaction didn't seem to faze Kirkland. "I didn't tell you to stop," he pointed out and Alfred immediately continued, albeit with an uneven voice. He raced through the sentences until the weight on his shoulders eased and Kirkland was sitting in front of him once more.

"You may stop now," Kirkland dismissed him with a sigh. "Go now. I will summon you later."

Alfred nodded mutely and stood up from his chair, bowing from the waist up and quickly made his way to the door and down the hall. He hadn't noticed that he had been running until he found himself next to the kitchen archway out of breath.

What had just happened?


	4. Forbidden Fruit

The words began to blur in front of Alfred's eyes. Frowning, he blinked his eyes rapidly in an attempt to sharpen his eyesight and sat a little straighter in his chair. The last thing he wanted was to give Kirkland a reason to dismiss him and appoint somebody else as his assistant.

Granted, Alfred didn't enjoy his job much, but he couldn't deny the effects of his new position on his life. Effects which he wouldn't trade for the world.

Word spread quickly in the slave quarters and by the time Alfred had woken up the day after his first session with Kirkland, people around him began to treat him differently. Nobody had woken him the other day when he had overslept and had ignored the fact that he had been late to the kitchens, preferring to greet him with warm smiles. People he had never spoken to before would come up to him and strike up a conversation as he would roll out the dough for Ashai, showing interest that they had never expressed in him before.

The same rule applied for mealtimes. Alfred had noticed that even if he was late, there was always someone who would call him over and announce that they had saved him a seat. Older women would offer him their dried apricots and other sweetmeats as he would pile his plate high from the bowls and platters in the middle of the long table.

Yes- it appeared to be that ever since he began to personally work for Arthur Kirkland, the sun shone brighter.

Everyone wanted to appeal to his good side and would every now and then mention minor requests they wished Alfred would repeat. Alfred himself didn't dare say a word out of place during his sessions with Kirkland, but the others didn't seem to hear him when he said so.

In their minds, doing Alfred favors would mean that at some point, their lives would improve. Who was Alfred to tell them otherwise when they wanted so badly to believe they finally had a way to influence their own fate?

His relationship with Kirkland, if he were to coin it as such, helped him in other ways as well. Laline had not called upon him to serve her as often as he had feared she would and Alfred had a feeling that it was Kirkland's doing. After all, Alfred would be in higher spirits after an evening without having to enter the harem, which would result in quality work as far as Kirkland was concerned.

Alfred might have entertained theories of Kirkland intervening for him in the harem simply because he disliked seeing Alfred in distress, but he knew well enough to wave such thoughts away and focus on the task at hand.

All of this would be lost should he fail Kirkland in some way. But what with the way Kirkland was looking at him at the moment, Alfred knew that he was in trouble.

"This can't be right," Kirkland frowned at him from the other side of the desk, looking up at Alfred from his parchment. "I don't recall purchasing any wax this week. Show me where it says that."

Bracingly, Alfred leaned over the table and presented Kirkland with the list he had been given to read aloud, pointing at the word he had been accused of getting wrong. Kirkland gave it a brief glance before meeting Alfred's gaze with a furrowed brow.

"So it says. That's strange. I could have sworn..." Kirkland trailed off, lost in thought. Alfred meanwhile pulled back and lowered his head, wondering if he was to continue reading or to remain silent as Kirkland thought. There had been a few moments like these in the past and every one of them had warranted a different reaction, one Alfred usually failed to deliver.

While he waited for some sort of reprimand, Alfred watched as Kirkland pushed back from the desk and began pacing the small room, occasionally looking up at one of the tapestries with a worried frown. It was only when the fire in the grate popped that Kirkland seemed to snap back into awareness and realize that Alfred was still there. Quickly, his trademark scowl framed his lips.

"You are to tell this to no one," he hissed at Alfred, walking up to him and grabbing his wrist, ignoring the way it made Alfred flinch. "Look at me and promise not to breathe a word of this."

Alfred raised his gaze and nodded, doing nothing to disguise the alarm in his eyes. If Kirkland had wanted to scare him into obedience, well, he'd done it.

Kirkland seemed appeased at last and let go of Alfred, standing back and lifting the parchment Alfred had been reading aloud from the desk, looking over the list idly.

"You're dismissed," Kirkland informed Alfred nonchalantly, not even bothering to raise his eyes. Relieved, Alfred stood up and bowed his head respectfully before turning around to leave. As he made his way to the door, however, a hand wrapped around his waist and stopped him from moving.

Freezing on the spot, Alfred could feel his shoulders tense as a warm body pressed itself along his back.

"You should really watch what you're eating, Alfred. You've gained weight," Kirkland's deep voice sounded in his ear, his warm breath brushing against the sensitive skin.

With an indignant sound Alfred pried himself away from Kirkland, flushing with embarrassment and anger. Now  _that_ was uncalled for. What did Kirkland care what he ate?

He was his assistant, not his bedmate!

A little too late, the realization that he had disobeyed a nonverbal order kicked in. He had deliberately pulled away from a touch initiated by his superior. If he had been worried about losing his position before, well, now he was certain of it.

Alfred bowed, doing his best to think of an appropriate apology. He was stopped, however, when he heard laughter.

Alfred raised his eyes, bemused, and saw that indeed, Kirkland was laughing.

"I knew you had spunk the moment I saw you on that auction block, looking over our heads as if you were some sort of deity," Kirkland said with an amused tone, looking Alfred over as if seeing him for the first time.

"It appears to be that I will have to break you in."

It was with worrying ease that Kirkland walked across the room to his desk and seated himself in his usual seat, meeting Alfred's eyes with languid confidence. "I enjoy a challenge."

Once Kirkland lowered his eyes and reached out for his parchment, Alfred considered himself dismissed and walked out of the room. He waited until he was leaning against a column in the hall to shake his head in bewilderment, quickly reviewing the past hour in his mind.

If Alfred would have been presented with a  _denar_ for every instance he had been left confused or apprehensive by his evening session with Kirkland, surely he would have been able to purchase his freedom by then.

 

.x.

 

For the next few weeks, Alfred made sure to watch what he ate, despite resenting every sweet he denied himself. He had a feeling that if he continued to consume as much as he used to, Kirkland would be sure to point it out. With his hands.

Alfred made a conscious effort to avoid his duties every night by coming up with tasks that  _simply couldn't be postponed._ He would take on extra cooking assignments and send Ashai in his stead to apologize to Kirkland for his delay. On the rare occasion, Alfred would volunteer to accompany the cook to the market and would return far too late to be of any help.

Alfred knew that he was taking a risk every time he came late to their sessions or simply didn't come at all- he was a slave and didn't have the right to refuse an order. In any other case he would have been punished.

Kirkland however didn't seem to mind too much, or at least he didn't show it.

 When Alfred did show up to their sessions, Kirkland would ignore him for the most part and work on his own papers, engrossed with what looked to be letter after letter. Once he'd realize that he didn't have any real work to do, Alfred would quietly dismiss himself and join the other slaves for dinner. His summons became sporadic.

Perhaps Kirkland's proclamation had all been an illusion. Perhaps it never happened at all. Maybe Alfred hadn't understood his words correctly. Whatever had happened, Kirkland made no more advances on Alfred.

For a short while, Alfred knew the perfect life.

That didn't last for long. A few weeks passed before he was called to serve the evening meal in the harem once again.

Agitated, Alfred contemplated the reasoning behind being summoned in front of Ashai as the other was preparing the meal he was to serve.

"I mean, it's been weeks since that witch called for me," Alfred worried his lip as he smoothed down the front of his tunic.

"Why is she suddenly summoning me again? Maybe... maybe she had been distracted by some other unfortunate soul and finally broke him and is now coming back for me. I swear, Ashai, that woman only finds pleasure in pain. What do you think- Ashai, aren't you listening to me?"

Ashai turned his head from the dates he was glazing over with honey, giving Alfred a sympathetic look.

"Yeah, I'm listening. I can't help but think that this has something to do with your avoiding Kirkland, though. Wasn't he the one who put an end to these summons?"

He handed him the platter before Alfred had a chance to respond.

"Here, take these. Just do as you always do- bow your head and don't respond to her baiting. You've done it before; I'm sure you'll be fine," he gave Alfred's shoulder a light squeeze. "Good luck."

Alfred smiled nervously at his friend and thanked him before balancing the platter out of the kitchen and up the stairs into the harem. His body became heavier with every step he took in the heavily perfumed chambers.

"Oh, what a lovely surprise," came a silky voice from behind him. Steeling himself, Alfred turned around with a respectful bow and approached the owner of the voice, setting the platter down on the low stool next to her.

Laline positively beamed at him when he straightened his back.

"The one and only Alfred has decided to grace us with his presence. Why, how  _kind_ of you to visit me here, a lonely harem girl."

Alfred furrowed his brows slightly at the bitterness hidden beneath the honeyed words. It wasn't possible that Laline was seeking him out solely for company, was it?

All doubt faded from his mind at her next words.

"How curious. Don't you have Mr. Kirkland to attend to? He must be worried about his little helper," she smirked, looking up at Alfred from beneath her lashes.

Laline lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Is it true, then? Arthur Kirkland has grown tired of you?"

Alfred stiffened. He had considered the break from his duties to Kirkland a blessing, but what were the others thinking when they saw him spend his evenings in the dining hall or with Ashai?

Now that he thought about it, what were they thinking happened when he  _did_ spend almost every evening with Kirkland?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Alfred said finally, raising his brows at Laline.

"Mr. Kirkland hasn't required my help recently, that is all. If he should need me again, I will be glad to assist him as I have done before."

Alfred could have sworn that the other's smirk grew even wider.

"So it  _is_ true! Honestly, the real question is why he put up with you for so long," Laline laughed airily, waving her hand in dismissal. "You may go now. I expect to see you tomorrow as well."

Pursing his lips, Alfred bowed his head and rushed out of the hall, blood pounding loudly in his ears. He had been glad when Kirkland had started cancelling their sessions, but now he was beginning to feel the gravity of his dismissal, not to mention the sting.

If Laline was getting her kicks out of Alfred's new status, well, perhaps he should be sorrier about losing such a position in the first place.

 

.x.

 

"Is this the man, lady?"

Alfred turned around, dropping the basket of bread he had been carrying as he saw a small group of armed men rushing towards him, a sobbing woman at their side. His first instinct was to run, but something told him that should he attempt to get away, it wouldn't end well.

The woman raised her face from her hands and met his eyes. They were red from crying, but Alfred could easily tell that there was something off about them. With a jolt, he realized that it was Laline.

"Yes, I'm sure of it."

Immediately, two of the men lunged at him and pinned his arms behind his back. Alfred struggled, but he was no match for two trained guards.

"What's going on? What did I do?" he demanded, glaring at the posse. 

"What's going on here?"

Alfred turned his head and for the first time ever since he arrived at the villa, he was relieved to see Kirkland walking towards them.

Alfred took the opportunity to point out that he hadn't the faintest idea and was just as confused as he was, but Kirkland ignored him completely and turned to talk to the head of the guard, pulling him aside.

After a few minutes they both returned.

Kirkland ordered the men to free Alfred and with a nod from their officer, the two men that had held Alfred in place let him go. Frowning, Alfred massaged his sore wrists as he was told to follow Kirkland to his office, accompanied by Laline who trailed triumphantly behind him.

When they had entered his office, Kirkland graciously offered Laline his seat while he simply gestured for Alfred to take the spare chair. Alfred anxiously took his seat and waited for Kirkland to speak up and explain what was going on.

"Alfred," Kirkland addressed him directly, "apparently you are being charged with attempted homicide," he paused, allowing the information to sink in.

"This woman here has claimed that you have poisoned her food while serving it to her last night. Before tasting from it herself, she says, her cat took a bite of a glazed date and died. Are you familiar with this particular dish?"

Alfred swallowed thickly, feeling his mouth go dry.

"Yes, I...that's what I served her last night. I swear I had no idea that it was poisoned!" he added quickly, clenching his hands on his knees. "I'm innocent!"

"Yes, well, of course you'd say that," Laline snapped, not looking remotely beautiful or appealing for the first time since Alfred had met her.

Alfred shook his head vigorously. "But it's true! Why would I ever want to poison you? What do I have to gain from your death?"

"You were jealous of me!" Laline exclaimed, jumping out of her seat. "You were jealous of my position and beauty and hoped to take my spot once I was gone!"

Alfred opened his mouth but was cut off before he could utter a word by Kirkland's sharp words.

"Enough. Madam, I ask that you leave us for the time being. I'll call for the local physician to stop by later on to make sure that you weren't inflicted as well," Kirkland bowed his head and inclined his hand towards the door.

"I suggest you spend the rest of your day relaxing. I'll be sure to notify you on future developments and, of course, will inform master Bonnefoy himself of this occurrence."

With a satisfied look, Laline raised her head and nodded at Kirkland before leaving the room, accompanied by one of the guards who were waiting outside. Once she was gone, Kirkland closed the door firmly behind her and turned to fully face Alfred.

"Well, then. Looks like you've gotten yourself into trouble," he remarked lightly, walking across the room to take the seat Laline had evacuated only moments before. "You have more enemies than I thought."

Alfred could feel the color in his face drain with every word.

 "I wasn't lying when I said that I didn't know anything about the poison, sir!" he repeated desperately, swallowing once more. "I swear, I-"

Kirkland raised his hand and Alfred immediately fell silent. "I don't care if you were involved or not, Alfred. Save the dramatics for the passion plays. I do, however, have a proposition for you."

When Alfred remained silent, Kirkland smiled and continued.

"You have some very serious accusations written against you," he gestured towards a parchment on his desk. "The punishment for attempted homicide is hanging. As it's your word against a harem concubine, there's no doubt in my mind that you'll be found guilty."

Alfred could feel his hands go cold. He refused to look away, fearing to displease the man who had complete control over his fate now.

"However," Kirkland continued, "I might just be able to get you out of this. It would take a lot of my time, of which I have almost none at all, but I'm willing to help you. For a price."

Alfred nodded dully, not the least surprised. He wouldn't have expected any less from Kirkland.

"What do you want?"

"You," Kirkland said curtly, standing up and making his way around the desk, leaning back on his heels as he met Alfred's eyes. He reached out and cupped Alfred's chin in his palm.

"I'm just an overseer, and I'm not allowed to own any slave of my own, nor can I force somebody against their will without risking master Bonnefoy's wrath. After all, everyone here belongs to him."

Kirkland took in a deep breath. "If you were to meet with me willingly, though..." he trailed off, running his thumb over Alfred's lips, "I will save your life. It's a fair exchange, don't you agree?"

Alfred responded automatically to Kirkland's advances, commanding himself not to think too deeply about what he was agreeing to. He would do anything necessary in order to save his life and wasn't about to refuse the only help he was being offered.

He didn't resist when Kirkland pulled him up for a kiss, trailing his fingers over the side of his tunic as his tongue forced its way into Alfred's mouth.

This meant nothing, Alfred reminded himself. Nothing at all.


	5. Terra Incognita

Alfred hadn't been able to sleep during his last night in the slaves' quarters. He had feigned slumber in order to elude answering the incessant questioning that surrounded him once he had returned to his sleeping hall from Kirkland's office, but even in the dark he could feel the others' gazes on his back.

Ashai had been considerate and shooed away the curious who had either bore witness to Alfred's arrest or had heard of it, but he had posed his own questions to Alfred when the stir had settled down.

Aside from assuring his friend that everything was going to work out, Alfred had avoided his questions until Ashai gave up and stretched out on his own mat. Alfred's shoulders remained tense until he heard the soft snores from his side.

His remaining in the hall had been out of the question. Now that Kirkland had taken responsibility over him, they had worked out a settlement with the head of the guard that Alfred was to stay under house arrest in Kirkland's private quarters rather than in a cell until the inquiry was over.

Alfred was grateful that he didn't have to spend dreary hours in the cold without a soul to talk to, of course, but the thought of being constantly in Kirkland's presence wasn't a cheerful prospect.

In his mind, however, the equation was simple. Kirkland was much preferable over certain death.

Now that they had reached an agreement, Alfred had a chance of clearing his name. Most slaves were never even given the chance. After all, slaves were easily replaced. If one didn't know his place or caused trouble, it was nothing to sell him or even execute him- especially in a large villa where one slave wouldn't be missed. Alfred had learned this first hand with his previous owner.

Which was why Alfred didn't protest when he was shaken out of his thoughts by a guard the following morning. He collected his few possessions as silently and as quickly as he could without waking any of the other slaves up. The last thing he wanted was to have pairs of eyes follow him in his walk of shame out of the hall and into imprisonment.

As he was pushed towards the doorway, however, Alfred paused to look back at Ashai, blissfully unaware of the mute commotion around him.

He didn't want to leave his friend without any sort of notice (he really should have told him when he had had the chance), but the guard poked the butt of his scabbard at him impatiently.

Alfred turned and made his way out of the room with his head held high. He would manage to get word to Ashai once he was settled in and made some connections. Until then, he would have to rely on gossip to reassure Ashai that he hadn't been sold away or even worse, escaped.

There was no mercy shown toward runaways. Not even Kirkland would have been able to help Alfred should he had tried to get away and had been caught.

Alfred was being moved before the kitchen slaves began to make preparations for the morning meal. The halls were completely empty and the sound of their footsteps thundered in Alfred's ears. Without the usual traffic, he and his guard reached Kirkland's quarters faster than Alfred had readied himself for. He had forgotten that an overseer was usually placed in the same floor as the slaves.

Alfred hid a disappointed frown- he had been hoping for a glimpse of a wing he had yet to set foot in before.

He was left outside the door as the guard entered the room to announce his arrival.

 Alfred was painfully aware of the sound of his own breathing in the silent hallway. He didn't want to be noticed by anyone should someone pass by, but the quiet surrounding him amplified every small sound.  He could hardly stop breathing, though.

Nerves were never his strong point.

"You can go in. He's waiting for you."

The guard had returned, looking expectantly at Alfred in between a tired yawn. From the smell of his breath this close up, it was obvious that the man had been drinking the previous night. He had probably been thrilled at the prospect of waking Alfred up and escorting him to Kirkland's quarters so early in the morning.

Alfred flashed the man a small smile before turning and walking through the doorway.

The hearth was warm with a roaring fire and the floor was richly carpeted, but Kirkland wasn't there. It was a bit odd, as the guard had presumingly just spoken to him, but Alfred didn't mind. In fact, he let out a small sigh of relief. He wasn't about to complain if he was given the time to become accustomed to his new surroundings before he actually interacted with Kirkland.

The room itself was tastefully furnished. A low wooden tea table was placed in the center of the room along with a soft looking recliner right next to it. A few scrolls were messily spread on the table and the recliner had a faded stain in the middle, but it was hardly visibly from the stack of pillows it supported.

What really caught Alfred's attention, though, was a portrait hanging on the wall above the hearth. A smiling woman was gazing back at him through the frame, curly blond hair framing her face.

Alfred set his belongings on the floor and walked up to the painting as close as he could and studied it. This was the only portrait in the room among the elaborate (but rather boring) landscapes.

Who was she? A long lost lover whom Kirkland had lost in a terrible tragedy? A sister he had left behind? Someone outside of his reach?

"Feeling at home, I see."

Alfred froze as a pair of hands pressed against his shoulder blades and a warm body sidled up all along the expanse of his back and thighs. The words, breathed damply against his neck, had been issued from a jabbing weight on his shoulder. Kirkland's chin was digging into his skin and Alfred yearned to shake him off but he remained still.

After all, what was a bit of discomfort in comparison to a death sentence?

Though if he were honest with himself, not all of Kirkland's touches and coy smiles in the past had been completely unwelcomed. That was what infuriated Alfred the most. It would have been so much easier on his conscience to accept the other's touch (for accept he must) while gritting his teeth.

Alfred wasn't a man without desires, however, and he happened to enjoy the warmth seeping through his tunic against his back. In the end, they both knew what he was there for, so he might as well make the most of his situation.

Alfred wasn't a simple (not to mention chaste) kitchen slave any longer. He was a haphazard courtesan, and as any good concubine would have done, he drew his lips back in a smile and turned around to face his benefactor.

There would be no more tolerance for reluctant martyr behavior from then on, said the knowing smirk on Kirkland's face. There was to be no room for cold shoulders and pained looks in these chambers, the hand on the belt of his tunic proclaimed. The pair of lips on his own sealed the deal.

Alfred could be a good actor when he had to be.

 

.x.

 

All things considered, Alfred was better off in Arthur's rooms than anywhere else in the villa.

Even Laline on her silken pillows couldn't compare to the pampered reality Alfred found himself thrown into. Arthur seemed to have taken a liking to him (whether he cared for Alfred himself or simply enjoyed the idea of having a concubine of his own was unclear) and as the only other occupant of his quarters, Alfred was the natural recipient of any form of indulgence Arthur might decide to bestow.

At first, these new gifts and luxuries were a welcomed distraction from the life outside of Arthur's chambers. Why dwell on those who wished him harm when he could eat as many sweets as he wished? Even while he had been free all those years ago, his family had never had as much money as Alfred was now exposed to.

That was the reason they sold him in the first place- money. To pay off a debt, to be specific.

As a slave, he relished any spare moment he had to lay back and relax from his day's labor. However, as much as the rest and the good food were welcome, their novelty soon wore off. Should there have been someone to share his good fortune with or even a few words, Alfred would have been content. With nobody to keep him company, though... it was pretty lonely.

Alfred had been surrounded by others every day in his life up until then. He had always been one of the crowd. It was strange to sit around in an empty room and hear his own thoughts so clearly without the usual hustle and bustle in the background.

In theory, he was entitled to call upon slaves to serve him should he desire. Aside from the daily meals Arthur had arranged in advance to be served to him, Alfred preferred not to call for anyone, as tempted as he was for companionship. It had been a novelty to be the one served and not the other way around, of course, but after the novelty came the embarrassment.

He couldn't start acting like some master after a life of slavery and treating any of the others as such would put him in an awkward position. Alfred wasn't any better than them, after all. Just lucky.

Was it luck to be a suspect of an attempted murder, though?

He missed Ashai.

The only conversation he had was with Arthur when he retired to his rooms after a day's work, and even then Alfred preferred to listen while Arthur let out steam. For all Arthur had done for him, he was no friend of his. The only thing on his mind was his longing for a companion, and he could hardly complain to his benefactor. For all of his faults, Alfred wasn't thankless.

Even so, something Alfred had said or done must have alerted Arthur. Alfred was spread on the bed one night with Arthur hovering above him, expecting him to dip down and kiss him when he felt a palm cup his cheek instead. Startled, Alfred opened his eyes and saw Arthur looking down at him quizzically, as if he were some document in his study that he was trying to decipher.

"Something is bothering you," Arthur stated, knotting his brows together in a frown.

The scent of jasmine from the freshly washed linens and the heady warmth of a body against his was usually enough to pacify Arthur, but apparently Alfred's discomfort was blaring in his face and demanding attention. And now that Alfred was finally getting what he had craved for so long, he wasn't sure how to respond to it.

"Are you ill? Should I call for the physician?" Arthur continued when Alfred looked up at him blankly.

Alfred supposed that Arthur had a lot to lose should his concubine die suddenly. All of his time spent on the release papers would have been for naught; a wrongly calculated investment. Even so, it was nice of him to voice his worries in such a way that might even sound caring.

Averting his gaze, Alfred propped himself up on his forearms and twisted away from their close proximity, forcing Arthur to sit back on his heels.

"No, sir. I'm healthy. I guess I'm just a little bit lonely." There wasn't any point in lying. Arthur didn't tolerate liars, as he had made it clear from the start.

"Lonely...?"

It was somewhat comical how taken aback Arthur sounded. He probably didn't have loneliness on his mind when he considered all of the ailments that Alfred might have been suffering from. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled and leaned back forward and pinned Alfred down to the mattress with his weight.

He pressed his lips to Alfred's collarbone. "I'll be your physician, then," Arthur decided, dragging his hand down the other's thigh. "I'm told my remedies for loneliness are superb."

Alfred turned his head to the side and allowed Arthur full access to his throat, sighing.

"I don't think it's something that can be cured with one satisfying night," he said carefully, trying to word his protest in a way that wouldn't sound too disrespectful. "I desire company during the day as well."

He could feel Arthur's teeth dig into his skin as they marked his throat.

"As delightful as your body is, I do have work to do," came the languid reply along with a hand taking his cock in its hold. Alfred closed his eyes and bucked his hips, inhaling sharply when he felt a solid warmth press against his stomach through the fabric of Arthur's tunic.

"However..." Arthur's voice trailed off in thought. His grip tightened around Alfred but for all of Alfred's squirming, he wouldn't move his hand to supply the friction he craved. "I suppose there wouldn't be any harm in allowing you to invite friends while I'm out."

Alfred turned his head to face Arthur. "Really?" he exclaimed, reaching out and wrapping his arms around the other's neck.

Arthur gave him a stern look. "Yes, but you cannot bring them into the inner rooms. I don't want some slave going through my things behind my back."

His voice was cold but the shiver down Alfred's spine was from the sudden movement of Arthur's hand, brushing a finger against the tip of Alfred's length.

Arthur seemed satisfied with the moan that followed. "Do you understand?" he pressed, pumping his hand up and down.

"Yes," Alfred breathed, digging his nails into the back of Arthur's tunic. "Thank you."

He didn't even mind the self-satisfied smirk Arthur flashed him. All that mattered was that he wouldn't have to spend his time alone any longer.

And, well, Arthur's hand  _was_ doing wonderful things.


	6. Reflection

Dark night sky melted into a soft pink dawn by the time Alfred opened his eyes.

The hairs on his bare body curled pleasantly in the early morning breeze. Dawn was arguably the nicest time of day, in Alfred's opinion. The start of a new day had a nice ring to it, and the air was still cool and crisp.

Once the sun rose properly, it would consume any lingering morning dew and bring with it the desert heat. If there were any perks in being forced to rise early and begin the day's work while the sky was still mostly dark, one of them most certainly was the sharp scent of life.

Living in Arthur's quarters for a few weeks was apparently not enough to lull Alfred's body into a more relaxed schedule. Years of waking naturally at a certain hour had their effect on his biological clock and had yet to relinquish control over to Arthur's indulgent tendencies. The man disliked having Alfred awake and watching him dress in the morning, if Alfred was to judge by the scowl on Arthur's face when he noticed that he was awake.

For that reason Alfred had developed the habit of feigning sleep after waking up until he was sure that he was alone in the room. He knew that if he displeased Arthur, he would have to make it up to him later that day when the man returned to their rooms. Arthur had a rigorous idea of atonement and Alfred's body could only take so much activity in succession.

He hadn't always been like that. Slaves couldn't afford fatigue or else risked being sold away or even death from neglect by owners who refused to feed the unproductive. Alfred was in the prime years of his life, young and able and quite capable of strenuous physical labor. He hadn't been very sexually active before he had been welcomed to Arthur's rooms, that was true, but it was somewhat disconcerting how each session drained him so.

Even without looking in the mirror Alfred could feel with his own hands how the skin on his hips thickened and softened from the countless hours of lying about aimlessly.

Alfred's body was all he had. The strength in his arms and legs was what promised him that he would be bought, should circumstances bring him back to the auction block once again. It was rare to find in the market a slave with too much meat on his bones but should the verdict of the inquiry demand that he be sold, Alfred was beginning to doubt that he would find a new home.

If Arthur noticed Alfred's weight gain or the slower way in which he now carried himself, he didn't comment on it. In fact, Alfred could have sworn that Arthur had smiled the previous night as he had dug his fingers into his thighs. He supposed that Arthur might appreciate having a soft bed warmer to hold onto at night, but Alfred was displeased with his lax schedule altogether.

Waking up that morning had a special spark to it, however, and Alfred had to stop himself from pushing back the sheet and climbing out of bed the moment he opened his eyes.

Arthur's promise to him last night that he would be allowed to host friends shot bouts of adrenaline through his body and it was hard to make himself stay still. He had to assess his surroundings before anything else- the last thing he wanted was to displease Arthur and have his privilege revoked.

Stealing himself, Alfred inhaled deeply and relaxed his muscles against the soft mattress. As usual, there was a distinctive weight curled up at his side.

Ever so gently Alfred turned to his side and studied the other man from above, supporting himself on his forearm. He was obstructing the blood flow to his arm and the uncomfortable feeling of pins and needles followed soon after, but the opportunity to observe Arthur was too good to miss due to mere discomfort. Alfred's breath slowed as well, carefully controlled so as not to make too much noise and accidentally wake Arthur.

Arthur looked different without his trademark scowl and occasional smirk. His brows, usually knotted together in concentration, were distinctly separate when he slept and erased his threatening demeanor. His mouth was set in a neutral line and what with the way his light mussed hair reflected in the morning light, Alfred would dare to say that the man looked… peaceful.

How odd.

"Good morning."

Alfred felt _all_ of his limbs go numb when Arthur's eyes opened and realized that he had been caught in the act. His mind screamed all forms of abuse at his childlike impulsiveness ("you fucking idiot, you're gonna be lucky if he doesn't just hand you over to the guards this instant"), but the green eyes regarding him from below did not harden as they noticed him. In fact, Alfred had been greeted- and was that a smile?

It must have been, because now a chuckle ruptured the silence engulfing them, "Are you always this verbal in the morning?"

Snapping back into attention, Alfred pulled away quickly from their proximity and sat up, drawing the sheet over his thighs.

"I apologize for waking you, sir," he mumbled, lowering his eyes to the white cotton in his lap, "I won't do it again."

Arthur clicked his tongue.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he insisted. A hand was pressed to Alfred's shoulder and he was pushed back down against the mattress, quickly pinned down by Arthur's arms and legs.

Trapped between his limbs, Alfred's eyes flicked up to Arthur's face hesitantly.

Arthur's lips curled in a satisfied smile. "You have no idea how beautiful you look beneath me," he murmured softly as he reached out to trace Alfred's mouth with his finger. The finger paused on Alfred's lower lip, denting its presence ever so gently, "do you?"

Alfred simply stared, resisting the urge to squirm under Arthur's heavy gaze. How exactly was he supposed to respond to such a question?

His thoughts must have been transparent, for Arthur snorted and drew his finger back, only to lean down close enough that Alfred could feel the warmth radiating from Arthur's body on his own. He turned his head ever so slightly to lick a thin line across the shell of Alfred's ear.

Alfred swallowed thickly.

"A pretty face like yours is hard to come by nowadays," Arthur stated, shifting his weight in order to delve his hand beneath the covers and run his palm over the back of Alfred's thigh. Alfred exhaled shakily and eyed the movement of Arthur's arm, wondering what he was getting at.

Arthur enjoyed marking things as his own (as Alfred had quickly learned), but to go out of his way to compliment him was a bit strange.

Continuing his train of thought, Arthur grabbed at the supple skin in his hand and thrust his hips forward, rubbing himself against the apex of Alfred's thighs with a low groan.

"I will not let them take you. I promise."

Alfred bit his lip, reigning in his own arousal from the friction against his length. Arthur's hipbone and stomach weren't the most pleasurable areas of his body to be rutted against, but that didn't mean that Alfred didn't enjoy it.

That morning was turning out to be rather abnormal. What with Arthur's languid touches and his heated promises, however, Alfred supposed he could get used to it.

 

.x.

 

As a slave Alfred did his utmost to try and avoid cleaning duty. He appreciated a tidy room as much as the next person, but picking up a broom and sweeping the floor just wasn't his style.

Having served in the kitchen previously he had been forced to wash countless dishes but with a friend nearby it was extremely easy to chatter the time away. Dusting old furniture with only a rag for company painted Alfred's mood as grey as the murky water in his bucket.

Today was different. The excitement ebbing from his fingertips wouldn't allow Alfred to stay put. He knew that Arthur's rooms were cleaned regularly but he couldn't find the will to stop himself from smoothing the trappings and straightening out the cushions. He even brushed his finger daintily over the elaborate woman's portrait he had studied on his first day in the Arthur's room, making sure that no dust or grime stuck to it.

Looking now at the woman's green eyes ignited Alfred's curiosity anew and he spent a long minute observing it. Despite his wonderings he had yet to gather his courage and ask Arthur about the identity of the woman. For all he knew, Arthur could have stumbled across the portrait at the market and purchased it solely for its beauty, but Alfred doubted something so trivial would be placed in such a prominent place.

Still, he couldn't just walk up to the man, bat his lashes and ask 'hey, who is the woman in that lovely portrait of yours, Arthur dear'?

Alfred chuckled quietly to himself and shook his head in amusement. No, he definitely didn't want to do that. He could easily imagine the sputtering and perhaps even a backhanded slap, though Arthur had yet to raise his hand on him. For all of his huffing and puffing, Alfred supposed the man wasn't the violent kind.

A knock on the door snapped Alfred out of his reverie and he turned away from the portrait, doing nothing to control the smile stretched across his face. He absently ran his hands down his tunic before he realized what he was doing and let his hands reach forward to open the door. Honestly, there was no need for primping. This was Ashai.

The face looking back at him mirrored his smile.

"Alfred," Ashai said quietly as his eyes did a swift once-over. "You look well."

Alfred beamed and took a step back, ushering his friend in. "Yeah, I know," he walked over towards the couch and gestured for Ashai to sit. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll go bring us tea."

A few minutes later he walked back into the room, balancing a tray with two mugs and a small clay jug. He seated himself next to Ashai and placed the tray on the low table in front of him, pouring out tea for them both before settling back against the pillows. The excitement he had kept pent inside of him for hours finally had the chance to be verbalized.

"So," he half turned to face Ashai properly, cradling his mug between his hands, "how are you? What have you been doing? Are you still in charge of the pastries? Did Yune ever make a move on Anise—?"

Ashai choked on his tea as he laughed. "Whoa there buddy, slow down. We have time. At least, I think we do. That's what the guard told me," he looked around him anxiously. "Was he lying?"

"No, you're right. We have time. Two hours, in fact," Alfred grinned, "Arthur said he didn't mind, and it's not like I have anything else planned for the day."

"Wait, 'Arthur'? You're on first name basis with him?" Ashai asked, his brows raised.

Alfred shook his head. "Of course not. I still address him with respect. Living with him has kind of made it hard for me to keep thinking of him as Kirkland and well, it is his name."

Silently, Ashai took a short sip of his tea and then proceeded to place it purposefully on the table before turning in his seat to face Alfred as well. Gone was his smile, replaced with a frown and deep worry lines.

"Alfred, you have to tell me what's going on. I wake up one day to find that you're missing, only to be told that you are living now with the overseer. I hear nothing from you and then a guard approaches me out of the blue and orders me to Kirkland's rooms because you want to see me?"

Alfred lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Ashai. I should have told you what was going on, but I didn't want anyone to overhear me and before we could manage some time alone I was brought over here. Being able to talk to you is a recent privilege."

"Privilege? Why is he granting you privileges? What are you even doing here?"

Unsure of how to go about answering, Alfred bit his lip and ran his thumbs over the rim of his mug. His silence must have been enough, though, since Ashai's eyes went wide and gaped at him as if he had never seen him before.

"So it's true," he stated. "What they're saying about you is true. They were right."

Alfred quickly looked up. His hold tightened around the mug as his shoulders tensed.

"What do you mean, 'they were right'? Who are you talking about?"

"The maids who are in charge of these rooms. They said they'd seen you here, that they had served you. They said—"

"What? What did they say?"

Ashai took a deep breath, "They said that you're Kirkland's bitch."

Oh. Well, that hadn't been blunt at all. Alfred flinched, but Ashai kept his steady gaze on him, waiting for his response. Maybe hoping for a denial. When none came, however, he leaned back, clearly disappointed.

"Fine. It's true," Alfred mumbled, placing his mug on the table as well, careful not to make eye contact with Ashai. "I suppose you could call me that now. But it's not what it looks like."

Ashai's sharp tone hinted otherwise.

"I don't know what to think, Alfred. I wish I could say that I know you and that you'd never try to seduce the overseer for a better life, but these rooms…your clothing…" he ran his gaze over Alfred's tunic pointedly, "…you look well."

Alfred couldn't deny that he was offended (did Ashai really have such a low opinion of him?), but he managed to swallow the hurt and inhaled slowly, letting the air out with a slightly calmer demeanor.

"I know it might be hard to believe, but I didn't agree to this, er, 'arrangement' for personal gain. I did it to save my life."

By the time Alfred was done explaining the series of unfortunate events which led him to Arthur's bed, Ashai looked troubled. They were both silent for a while, Alfred working his lip nervously and Ashai busy contemplating until he looked up in confusion.

"Why did he want you as his concubine, though?"

From all of the questions Alfred had expected, even planned a response for, he couldn't say that he had expected that.

"Well, uh, I'm not sure," he stumbled, very much caught unawares. Alfred could feel his face grow warm. "I guess he found me attractive?"

Ashai stared at him for a moment before he burst out laughing.

"Of course. Silly question. So tell me, what is it like?"

Eager to change the subject, Alfred latched to Ashai's question and rambled about his daily life in Arthur's quarters, making a point to downplay the luxury around him as much as possible. The smile returned to Ashai's face and they spent the rest of their time together joking and gossiping, just like before.

By the time they promised to meet again and Alfred walked Ashai to the door, Alfred was glad their get together was over. His shoulders sagged in relief as he closed the door after Ashai and he subsequently lay down on the couch, covering his eyes with his arm tiredly.

Ashai's smile hadn't been natural after his awkward question and his laugh had a fake quality to it that made Alfred wince. He was most likely imagining it (or maybe his perspective was a reflection of his own discomfort), but he couldn't help but wonder.

When Arthur returned later that evening and asked him how his day had been, Alfred simply smiled and kissed Arthur on the cheek, murmuring his thanks as he brushed his hands over Arthur's chest suggestively. Arthur thankfully fell for the bait and didn't question him further, preferring to have Alfred's mouth around his cock than to have it issue words at him.

Alfred didn't complain about being lonely again.


	7. Of My Own Flesh and Blood

When Arthur didn't show up for dinner, Alfred hadn't been worried. Arthur was a busy man and it was hardly unusual for him to keep Alfred waiting. He had ignored the shadow of darkness creeping through the windows and slowly shrouding his surroundings with a blanket of black. Alfred wouldn't have even lifted himself from the couch to light a few of the oil lamps scattered around the room if not for the book in his hands, which was becoming increasingly hard to read.

Still, the dark ink, which usually stood out on the white parchment, had begun to swim in front of Alfred's line of vision until he had to concede and admit defeat. There would be no more adventures of the Far East for him that night. Alfred gave a small sigh and closed the book. Perhaps it was for the best.

The leather binding of the book gleamed in the lamplight, reminding Alfred of how awed he had been when Arthur had returned from his day's work one night and presented him with the manuscript. Arthur had been smiling softly as Alfred exclaimed in delight before remembering his place and lowering his eyes as he accepted the gift with a mumbled 'thank you'.

Arthur must have noticed the grin Alfred had been biting back because his hand had quickly snaked beneath Alfred's chin and prompted it upwards, forcing Alfred to meet his gaze and mirroring the joy he saw in his face.

"You do not need to suppress your emotions when I am present," he had admonished before leaning close and pressing their lips together in a short kiss.

 _Yeah, right,_  Alfred had wanted to say, but instead he melted into the kiss just like he knew Arthur loved and hugged the manuscript close to his chest.

If Arthur wanted to play house and treat him like a lover, well, why the hell not? It didn't matter that it reeked of falsehood and that the only thing Arthur was really drawn to was Alfred's body—Alfred had little choice in the matter. He was being pampered and groomed just like the concubines he had seen in the harem and had envied.

Why shouldn't he be happy?

Alfred ran his fingers absently over the leather.

In retrospect, he shouldn't have been as excited as he had felt when given the book. Arthur had made it clear that once Alfred was finished with it, the book was to be returned to his office. Neither of them actually owned it and once that was made known, the short- lived prospect of owning something of his own had been completely eliminated.

That didn't stop Alfred from growing attached to the delicate pages and beautiful script. Knowing that he would have to return the book only made the characters and story grow all the more dear to him. It was almost magical how a small pile of pages with words etched onto them and sewn together into a whole illuminated Alfred's life so. Books had always been a fascination of his.

The lamps would soon need to be refilled if Alfred were to judge by the flickering light consuming the thin wick. He casted his eyes at the fruit platter on the table and frowned. Alfred had grown accustomed to a warm dinner every night ever since he had been taken into Arthur's rooms. Soups, stews and even roasts would be placed in front of him and his master, and Alfred had quickly adapted. He had been all too happy to take food for granted when he'd known hunger in his not so distant past.

There would be no dinner until Arthur returned. The fruit were supposed to be a light snack in between meals, not a replacement. No amount of famished lamentation from his stomach could convince Alfred otherwise. He could hardly end his day without a proper meal, but he was just as unlikely to summon a slave on his own to bring him something from the kitchen.

What on earth was keeping Arthur?

With one last look at his book, Alfred pushed himself off from the couch onto his feet, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. He couldn't do anything to summon Arthur back to their quarters, no matter how much he willed the man to open the door.

Oh, Arthur didn't have to actually return in order to make Alfred happy—it would be wonderful if Arthur simply sent a kitchen slave to him with his dinner, preferably with the order to not wait up. That would be one order Alfred wouldn't have a problem following with a smile.

...or couldn't he? Find Arthur, that is. Alfred had yet to leave Arthur's rooms for the few weeks he'd been there, but Arthur had never forbidden him from doing so. He might have refused Alfred's hesitant requests to visit his friends and stretch his legs, but could that be seen as a command to stay put for all eternity? He was under house arrest, not imprisoned in a solitary cell.

Alfred walked towards the door and paused in front of it, hand on the knob. If he was caught wandering about the halls by the guards, would he be in trouble? He doubted they would recognize him, even if he did come upon one of them on his mission. Alfred no longer looked like the gaunt kitchen aid he had been when they had arrested him. With the extra meat on his bones and the fine material on his back, he wouldn't be surprised if the guards would mistake him for one of master Bonnefoy's concubines and escorted him back to the harem.

It would serve Arthur right for leaving him to starve.

Alfred grinned at the thought and with a burst of energy opened the door, stepped outside and closed it silently behind him.

Oh. Alfred's eyes widened as he took a careful step forwards, drinking in as much as he could. The change of scenery was refreshing. The halls were thankfully empty at such a late hour, but the lack of people took nothing from the novelty of it all. The red curtains, the sleek floor and large glass windows... they were all still there, more vibrant and real than in any of his memories.

Alfred stood still for a long moment, controlling his breath and trying his damn hardest not to vocalize his excitement. The cool air circling him made him want to run and cheer, but the swift pace he decided on had no wild quality to it. His mission was clear: reaching Arthur's office as soon as possible without being seen.

It was a short walk and by the time Alfred stopped in front of the office door his breath had evened out. The door itself was halfway open which proved to be a surprising discovery.

While Alfred had been working for Arthur on a weekly basis the door had always been closed. Perhaps Arthur had developed a new habit in favor of air circulation, but Alfred highly doubted it. After all, Arthur was the kind of man who would throw a fit if his clothes weren't folded in the exact same order he had devised twenty something years before.

Not the easiest man to deal with, to say the least.

Curious, Alfred treaded quietly into the room, making an effort not to disturb the man inside. With his back to him and his head bowed over his desk, Arthur remained oblivious to Alfred's presence as he wrote furiously, muttering under his breath.

"First wax, now kohl... I told her  _specifically-_ "

Alfred cleared his throat.

Arthur turned around immediately, his brows knotted and his mouth pulled down in a scowl, a snappish 'what' on his lips when his eyes fell on Alfred. They widened briefly before narrowing alarmingly, an expression Alfred hadn't seen in a long time. He took a step back, suppressing the urge to run back to their quarters.

"What on earth are you doing here, Alfred?" Arthur hissed as he jumped out of his chair and rushed towards the door, closing it securely behind him before turning to face his charge.

"Why are you out of my rooms? Do you have  _any_  idea what would happen if someone saw you?"

Alfred could feel the color draining out of his cheeks. During his quest to find Arthur he hadn't even considered the possibility that the man wouldn't be happy to see him. It was silly to have overlooked it. Silly and stupid. Just because Arthur had yet to raise his voice at him during his stay didn't mean that the man didn't have the ability to direct his anger at him.

He refused to back down, though. He had made it this far, so why should he give in when he was so close to his goal? Alfred squared his shoulders and met Arthur's gaze firmly.

"I was worried. It's very late, and you still hadn't returned—"

Arthur's hand around his wrist cut him off as he was yanked the few steps between them.

"You were worried," Arthur repeated quietly, though the look in his eyes was anything but calm.

"You were worried, so you came looking for me. Even though the terms for your release into my custody were very clear that you should stay in my room. Even though I forbade you from leaving. But no, you were  _worried_ , and that clearly overrides anything anyone else had told you, doesn't it?"

Alfred shook his head, opening his mouth to object, but Arthur wouldn't allow him a word in edgewise.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? How ungrateful you are? I risked my position standing up for you and saving you from the execution block, and this is how you repay my kindness? Throwing it all away on a whim? All of my work, for nothing?"

The fingers around Alfred's wrist dug into his skin uncomfortably as he tried to pull away, but no matter how much he struggled, Arthur wouldn't let him go.

"Answer me, Alfred! Do you have a fucking death wish?"

Alfred stopped his struggling and allowed his limbs to fall limp in Arthur's hold.

"No, of course not," he whispered, hating how his voice cracked. "I wasn't thinking. I—that was really stupid of me. I'm stupid. I'm so sorry," he added, beyond caring how weak and pathetic he sounded. All he had wanted was dinner. This wasn't what was supposed to happen.

It seemed that with Alfred's apology all of the aggression melted from Arthur's body and his grip eased around Alfred's wrist. The anger and frustration was gone from his eyes as well as he raised his arms to wrap around Alfred's shoulder in a loose hug; Arthur was visibly tired.

"Don't ever do that again," he ordered in a low tone against Alfred's hairline. Alfred nodded, his forehead brushing against Arthur's shoulder, not quite trusting himself to speak. A few moments passed before Arthur pulled away and tucked stray strands of dark blond behind Alfred's ear while offering him a small smile.

"Let's go home."

 

.x.

 

After the 'incident', as Arthur had primly dubbed it, Alfred hadn't expected to be allowed within a mile of the door. It had come as a complete surprise, then, when Arthur had appeared in the middle of the day with a few guards and told him to follow them with a secret smile.

The surprise (and a touch of anxiety) had then turned into pure joy when the small party ended up in the gardens.

With a few clipped words to the guards, who proceeded to distance themselves from the pair, Arthur turned to Alfred with a smirk and rested his hands on Alfred's hips.

"I cannot blame you for wanting to leave my rooms after being cooped up in there for so long. I honestly should have seen your little flight coming a long way back."

Alfred reflexively leaned into the touch as he had been trained, wrapping his own arms around Arthur's waist. Despite his burning curiosity, he waited patiently as Arthur raised one hand in favor of carding his fingers through Alfred's hair. What was Arthur trying to say?

"However, I couldn't let you run about the villa," Arthur chuckled. "I  _did_  manage to obtain permission for you to walk about the gardens as long as you're accompanied by me or a guard. How does that sound?"

Arthur never got an answer. He did get a kiss, though.

 

.x.

 

The gardens soon became Alfred's favorite area in the villa, even more so than the luxuries of the harem he had once coveted. After being forced into a closed off set of rooms for almost a month, the open air around him was a welcomed change.

The freshness of it all and the sweet smell of growth all around him left Alfred smiling for the rest of the day which happened to please Arthur as well, though Alfred couldn't pinpoint why. Hadn't he been good natured before?

He tried not to think too much about Arthur when he was out in the gardens. There were so many new things to observe and enjoy and what with the limited time he had per day, Alfred wanted to utilize his hour to the max. He ignored the guard on duty who hovered a safe distance away from him as Alfred walked about the paved path or lay on the grass to bask in the sunlight.

After all, what else could he do?

The guards must have realized that Alfred wasn't about to run off or poison anyone as eventually the distance between them grew to an extent that Alfred couldn't see the features on their faces clearly. The lines on his brow would disappear at the thought as he'd close his eyes and rest in the shade. He could only grow so comfortable while knowing that he was being watched.

Which was why his face pinched in confusion one day as he was lying next to the bushes. Alfred had the distinct impression that someone was watching him, but that was impossible—aside from the far off guard, he was alone in this part of the garden. There wasn't anyone around to watch him.

Still, he couldn't shake off the feeling and reluctantly sat up, looking around him.

Nothing. What was wrong with him?

Alfred shook his head and began to lower himself back to the ground when he heard it: a soft rustle of leaves. He paused and waited, listening for any other sound for a long minute before resigning himself to believing that it had only been the wind. The loud snap of twigs insisted otherwise.

Careful not to alert the guard with any sudden movement, Alfred rose to his knees and turned around, frowning at the bushes. He was most likely getting worked up over a small animal, but he wanted to make sure. Just in case.

Which was a really bad idea because his heart almost gave in when a pair of eyes locked onto his through the bushes. Alfred's voice died in his throat as he scrambled back, turning around with full intentions to run to the guard when a grip on his ankle kept him anchored to the ground as he was flipped onto his back.

A young man with a covered face pinned him down with one hand, the other flying to Alfred's mouth to muffle his cry of protest. The stranger proceeded to straddle him and bend low to whisper in Alfred's ear.

"Hush, I'm not here to hurt you."

 _Sure you're not,_  Alfred thought, refusing to cease his struggling until both of the assailant's palms snaked around his neck, choking him. His own hands flew to the back of the man's hands and scratched at them frantically while doing his best just to breathe.

Their eyes met again, and just like that the man's hands were off of him and Alfred could inhale properly again. His eyes burned and his throat hurt, but he still meant to try to call out to the guard when the stranger spoke his name, making him pause.

"What did you just call me?" he rasped, eying the man closely. The other's eyes (violet, now that Alfred had the time to look at them properly) softened as he repeated himself.

"Alfred, is that you?"

Alfred's body went rigid as the man raised his hands to remove the cloth from around his face, pulling it back just long enough for his brother to smile at him. Alfred held his breath.

"Matthew?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I hadn't really interacted with my ao3 readers (if there are any out there uwu;) yet in my nonexistent notes for this story quite yet. I just kinda copied and pasted the whole work from FFnet without a second thought.
> 
> So... hi! xD My name is Hanna, and I am the author of this story. I've decided to make a real effort to update Sand and Silk every two weeks, and this is the first chapter that has met my goal. I'd love to hear from you and know what you think of it :)


	8. Under the Veil

_A spider was crawling towards him. Alfred watched as the small black arachnid paused in front of his feet before climbing up onto his ankle. Every instinct urged him to kick it off, but the spider was the only interesting thing to have happened to him ever since he woke up that morning._

 

  _If it was morning. He couldn’t be sure._

  _Alfred was pretty sure that at least a week had passed since he had been shoved into the cellar and locked from the outside. After spending so much time alone with the bare minimum interaction with the slave who would bring him his meals, a spider was welcomed company. Even if all it did was crawl over his skin._

 

  _The sound of footsteps pierced the silence and grew stronger at a steady pace, coming to a halt in front of the door. A metallic twist of a key in the keyhole and light poured into the room._

 

  _Alfred remained seated against the wall, squinting blearily at the intruder. He knew the routine- the man would crouch down and pick up Alfred’s used utensils, replacing them with a new tray of food. Without meeting his eyes, he would quietly straighten back up and leave, locking the door behind him with a sharp click._

 

  _The man didn’t bend low, however. Instead, he looked around the room hesitantly before closing the door and fully stepping into the room. With the blinding light gone, Alfred’s eyes easily adjusted to the customary darkness and were able to properly examine the other man._

 

  _Recognition lit in his eyes as he scrambled to his feet, sending the spider flying down to the floor to crawl away furiously. Alfred hadn’t stood upright in what felt like days and his legs felt unsteady, but the wall supported him as he was wrapped into a warm embrace._

 

  _He automatically raised his arms to hold his brother in return, running his fingers soothingly down his back._

_“Mattie, what are you doing here?”_

 

  _Matthew dug his chin into Alfred’s shoulder._

_“I wanted to see you. It’s been a week.”_

 

  _They continued to hold each other for a long minute before Alfred gently pushed Matthew away and sank back down to the ground, pulling at his brother’s tunic. Matthew followed him and settled himself next to him, leaning back against the wall and half turning to look Alfred squarely in the face._

 

_“How are you feeling? Are you hurt?”_

 

  _Alfred shook his head. “The guards were rough, but I only scraped my knees when they pushed me through the door. I’m hungry, though.”_

 

  _Eyes wide, Matthew immediately scrambled to the door where he had left his tray and dragged it back to the wall, picking up the loaf of bread and handing it to his brother. Alfred shot him a grin before taking it from the outstretched hands and biting into the hard crust. He took a moment to break off a small piece but when he offered it, Matthew shook his head._

 

  _Shrugging to himself, Alfred continued to eat in silence until the bread was gone. He had been ignoring the violet eyes studying him all the while, but now that his mouth was empty, Matthew must have deemed him fit to be bombarded with questions._

 

_“What have you been doing? Is it true what they’re saying? Did you sleep with Asya? What did the master say--?”_

 

  _“Matthew!” Alfred choked as he laughed, coughing and only causing the worry lines on Matthew’s brow to deepen. Fuck, he hadn’t wanted that. He needed to try again._

_“No, seriously, I’m fine. Just one at a time, okay?”_

 

  _Matthew nodded, pursing his lips but not saying a word. Sighing, Alfred rested his head against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes._

 

_“I didn’t do anything with Asya. I swear. I don’t know what made the master think that I was trying to seduce his daughter, but it isn’t true. She was just being friendly and I couldn’t tell her to go away.”_

 

  _“Did you tell the master that?”_

 

  _“Yes!” Alfred exclaimed, opening his eyes and turning to face his brother. “Even she said that nothing happened between us, but that didn’t stop him from locking me up in here, did it?” he fumed, digging his nails into his palm._

_“I’ve been bored out of my mind. At this point, I don’t even care what he decides to do with me. As long as something actually_ happens _.”_

 

_Matthew gave him a sharp look. “Well, I care. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t been able to sleep at night. The master has been assembling a small party to go to the market tomorrow.” He paused._

_“Alfred, you’re on the list.”_

 

  _“I’m what?”_

 

  _A hand tightly grabbed his. “You’re on the list. He’s going to sell you.”_

 

_Alfred knew that Matthew was expecting some kind of reaction, but all he could do was stare blankly at the door opposite them. “Sell me...?”_

 

  _“Yes Alfred, dammit! We’re going to be separated!”_

 

  _The panicked tone in Matthew’s voice snapped Alfred back in focus. He turned his head and watched as his brother blinked furiously, feeling his own throat contract._

_They had been sold and bought together twice, both times very much against the odds. Lovers were separated constantly; mothers and their children were sold to different masters on a daily basis. The fact that he and his brother had remained together not once, but twice after climbing up the auction block was nothing short of a miracle._

_Alfred and Matthew had sworn never to tempt fate again and to make sure not to toe the line, but here they were, swallowing back tears that should never have been provoked._

_He had ruined everything._  

 

.x.

 

 “Matthew?”

 His brother flashed him a smile before quickly climbing off of him, redoing his headdress so that his features were once again hidden.

Alfred sat up and watched Matthew with rapt attention. In his alarm and struggle, he hadn’t had the time to notice how familiar the stranger was. Half a year had passed since he had been sold. He should have recognized his own brother.

 Now wasn’t the time to reprimand himself, though. The guard might have noticed his frantic calls from before and could very well be on his way.

 “Come, we have to get out of here.”

  “Where are we going?”

 “You tell me,” Matthew whispered, pulling Alfred up and standing behind him. “You’re the one who knows the place.”

 Well, he was right. Alfred looked around him and tried to recall any kind of secluded area where he could hide his brother, or at the very least have a private conversation with him without being seen.

 “There’s an old shed beyond that cluster of bushes. Will that be alright?”

 Matthew gave him a long look before shrugging.

“If you think so. Just hurry.”

 They made their way quickly to the shed, making sure that no one had followed them before entering and closing the door behind them. It was cool and dark inside, but the warm hug Alfred found himself folded into was as warm as the afternoon sun.

 He hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time.

 “I can’t believe I actually found you,” Matthew murmured, squeezing Alfred tightly before taking a step back to admire him.

“Look at you. I hadn’t recognized you with these fancy clothes on. Thought I was tackling a palace concubine.”

 Alfred grinned and swatted Matthew’s hand away.

“Shut up. You’re no better. I thought an assassin was about to off me.” His smile faded and a frown took its place. “What are you doing here? How on earth did you get past the guards?”

 The man standing in front of him might have been his brother, but the shadow which darkened his features belonged to a stranger.

“It was hard getting through the gates, but the right amount of money in the right hands can do wonders. None of that matters now, though,” he reached out and took Alfred’s hands in his. “Isn’t it obvious? I came for you.”

 Alfred froze.

“What do you mean?”

 “Exactly what I said. I finally tracked you down, and I’m going to bust you out of here. We’ll be together again, Fred.”

 Alfred’s childhood nicknamed made him blink back tears. God, this was just like the last time they’d seen each other. Matthew looked so hopeful, so confident. Alfred had a million questions he wanted to ask him, but his time was running out.

 The last thing he wanted to do was to wipe Matthew’s excited smile off of his face, but he had no choice.

 “I... there’s nothing I want more than to run away with you,” Alfred started, continuing despite how he could see Matthew’s face fall at his tone. “But I can’t. Not right now. They’re going to look for me if I don’t reappear soon. It’s too dangerous to leave.”

 Matthew relinquished his hold of Alfred’s arms, but quickly stepped closer to grab him by the shoulders and give them a shake. “If we don’t go now, we may never have the chance. Come on, we can do this!”

 “No, I can’t,” Alfred’s shoulders sagged as he was released. He knew he was disappointing his brother, but he couldn’t risk endangering them both.

A tense silence weighed heavily between them before Matthew’s brows knitted in a frown.

“What happened to you?” he whispered, taking a step back. “What did they do to you here? It’s like I don’t know you anymore. Six months ago you would have jumped on the opportunity for freedom.”

 “Six months ago I was a different person,” Alfred agreed, wincing at how pathetic he sounded, even to his own ears.  “I want to go with you, but I can’t. Not now.”

 Matthew pulled his headdress off and ran his fingers through his hair with a soft sigh, crumpling against the wooden wall. He glanced up at Alfred from underneath his bangs.

“Fine, not now. But later? You’ll come with me?”

 “Yes, of course,” Alfred swiftly swore, looking from his brother to the door. He was going to be late. “Listen, I’ll be in the gardens tomorrow at the same time. Meet me here?”

 The light returned to Matthew’s eyes.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he promised. Tucking his knees beneath his chin, he looked just like the younger brother Alfred used to steal sweets from the kitchen for.

 Alfred’s heart ached.

 Crouching down in front of his brother, Alfred pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

“We have so much to talk about,” he murmured before pulling back. He rested his hand on Matthew’s knee before giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here.”

 

.x.

 

It was hard to concentrate on anything but his brother for the rest of the day. Excitement would turn to apprehension and back again to excitement with every breath. Looking at himself in the mirror, Alfred shook his head at his reflection. Matthew was right.

When exactly had he gone so soft?

 Of course leaving was the right thing to do. Alfred had no future in the Bonnefoy household. In fact, leaving would make everything easier for all parties involved- he would be free, Matthew would have his brother back and even Arthur would be able to devote more time to his work without having to toil over Alfred’s case.

 Why was he so reluctant, then?

 Alfred unfastened the belt of his tunic and pulled the material over his head, quickly followed by his trousers and sandals. He glanced again at his reflection in the mirror. His personality might have changed over the past few months, but did he look any different than when he had been locked in the cellar?

 He knew the answer. Never in his life had Alfred’s skin been so smooth and supple, not even when he was free. His hair had a healthy sheen and he couldn’t see his ribcage anymore. Hell, he probably even  _smelled_ different.

The biggest change, perhaps, was the trail of bite marks over his collarbone.

Alfred turned away from the mirror and walked down the steps into the bath. One of the many luxuries that came with living in Arthur’s rooms was the availability of a quaint, personal hamam. The water was always warm and clean and the best part? He never had to share it.

  _Matthew could probably use a good bath,_ a small voice whispered, but Alfred bit his lip and closed his eyes, sinking into the warm water.

The voice was right, of course. Matthew had been on the road for a long time. Still, beating himself up over it wouldn’t actually help his brother. The most Alfred could do was plan ahead with a clear mind and make sure to bring along as many necessities as he could carry as they ran.

 “Mind if I join you?”

 Alfred’s eyes flashed open. He lost his footing and slipped, landing on the bench in a heap of limbs. His cheeks were flushed, but all Arthur did was chuckle softly as he wallowed into the water.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized as he joined Alfred on the bench. “What were you thinking about?”

 Alfred opened his mouth while trying quickly to come up with some frivolous thought, but no words came out. His mortified flush grew darker but if Arthur noticed, he didn’t comment on it.

 “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Arthur said finally with a shrug. He snaked his hand around Alfred’s wrist and gently pulled at it. “If you’d like, I can rub your back for you. Here, turn around.”

 Not entirely sure what to do with the burst of consideration, Alfred decided that it couldn’t  _hurt_. He shifted his body accordingly so that his back was then facing Arthur and inhaled sharply when he felt a hand on his back.

 “Relax. This is supposed to feel good.”

 Nothing about their situation was relaxing, but Alfred allowed his shoulders to sag as he slowly got used to the long fingers digging into his muscles. They sat in a companionable silence laced with Arthur’s soft humming as he rubbed. It was only when his chin collided with his chest that Alfred realized that he was being lulled to sleep.

 He snapped his head back up and heard Arthur chuckling behind him.

“See? I told you you’d enjoy it.”

 It was hard to keep his eyes open, though. Without giving it much thought, Alfred leaned back and rested his head against Arthur’s chest. The fingers paused for a moment before caressing their way to his hips, rubbing soothing circles into the skin.

 Alfred sighed. As if on cue, one of the hands surged down to grasp his length, wrapping its fingers around his girth. Alfred jerked at the sudden touch, but Arthur continued to hold him. He moved his hand up and down, slowly pumping him.

 “How about this?” Alfred could hear the smirk in the other’s voice, but even Arthur couldn’t deny the slight breathless quality to it. “Are you enjoying this?”

 The hand continued to move. Alfred resigned himself to the feeling and closed his eyes. Water was a meager excuse for a lubricant, but it kept the raw friction from borderlining on pain. When Arthur’s thumb brushed over the head, he let out a low groan.

 There was a choked sound from behind him and sure enough, he could feel Arthur’s cock hardening against his back. His own length was being nursed to full mast until it was straining in Arthur’s palm.

 “I think this answers my question.”

 Neither of them lasted very long. By the time Alfred cried out in release, he had his hands around Arthur’s neck and was seated rather comfortably in his lap. Arthur’s fingers dug into his thighs as he came as well, holding him in place while nipping at the skin of his neck.

 Alfred never really liked the feeling of Arthur’s flaccid length still inside of him but somehow, being in the water, he didn’t mind it all that much. His thoughts were more occupied with Arthur’s tongue in his mouth, brushing against his teeth and pulling at his lips.

  _If I leave, I’ll never be able to be with him like this again,_ came an errant thought as Arthur broke the kiss and began to nuzzle his cheek.  

 It shouldn't have mattered as much as it did.


	9. Estne hic amor?

They tumbled in bed, sweat intermixing on their bodies as they rubbed against each other’s skin. Alfred closed his eyes and bit down on his lower lip, fisting the sheet in his clenched hands as Arthur’s head went lower and lower down his body, finally hovering over his crotch.

“Do you want it?” Arthur exhaled over Alfred’s length as he spread his thighs with his hands. “Do you want _me_?”

Alfred curled his toes and resisted reaching down to tangle his fingers in Arthur’s hair. “Fuck, yes,” he gasped, bucking his hips so that his member brushed the skin of the other’s cheek. The touch, even though it had been just a brush, was tantalizing.

He supposed anything would feel good when you’ve been denied friction ever since you climbed into bed.

Arthur’s voice sounded hoarse as he chuckled. “What was that? I’m afraid I did not hear you,” he pulled his head away from Alfred’s crotch just enough that only his body heat radiated between Alfred’s legs. His hand, however, had shifted from Alfred’s thigh to his testicles, cupping them ever so gently in his palm.

_Goddamn_ it.

“I said ‘yes’,” Alfred snapped loud enough for his voice to carry to his self imposed deaf master. Or so he hopes, because this was getting ridiculous and he needed to be touched. If Arthur wanted him to put his desire to words, then so be it.

“I want you to wrap your lips around my cock and suck. Hard. Now.”

The hand around him squeezed. “What else do you want?”

If he didn’t face certain death for murdering his superior, Alfred would have strangled the man. How could he manage to be so cruel yet so fucking attractive at the same time?

Alfred propped himself up on his arms and came face to face with the other. The aroused flush on Arthur’s cheeks probably mirrored his own. How could he have ever spent time alone with the overseer without fantasizing about his expressive green eyes, the barely visible dusting of freckles on his nose?

Oh, he knew why. You could only notice those if you were close enough.

And boy, was he close enough. Close enough to surge forward and press their mouths together, meshing them in a languid kiss.

“I want you to fuck me,” Alfred admitted softly as they parted, steadily holding Arthur’s gaze. “I want you to claim me, mark me, make me yours. I want the whole world to know who I belong to.”

He knew his words would work their magic on Arthur. The man was partial to his possessive tendencies, and Alfred knew for a fact how much the man enjoyed the notion of owning him. The fact that he was technically lord Bonnefoy’s was never mentioned between them.

Alfred wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself that he might like the idea, too.

As expected, Arthur pushed him back down onto the pillows, latching onto Alfred’s neck as he pinned his hands over his head. Alfred leaned back and bared his throat reflexively, pulling his legs out from under Arthur in order to wrap them around his hips.

Teeth nipped and bit at his delicate skin, leaving blooming red marks in their wake after Arthur would suck and lick at them soothingly. Alfred itched to pull his hands out of the other’s grasp and drag his nails down Arthur’s back, but he restrained himself. Arthur wouldn’t like that.

Instead, he grounded his hips, rubbing against Arthur’s length and- oh. _Yes._ That felt good.

Arthur’s teeth seemed to sink even deeper into his flesh and Alfred cried out, momentarily blinded by the pain to feel the pleasure he had easily given himself to. He felt a pair of lips press against the wound apologetically.

The hold around his wrists was suddenly looser than before, practically symbolic. Arthur held them with one hand as his other delved between their chests and surged downwards to curl around their cocks, pressing them flush together.

They both gasped.

Arthur’s hand stroked them fastly, eagerly, with no fineness or delicacy. He wanted release as well, apparently. Their hips moved in time, thrusting into his hand which barely held them together. The friction was amazing, the heat was building out and their grunting grew louder and more desperate--

White splattered across their stomachs and chests. Through the haze, Alfred felt Arthur come after him with a few extra strokes, falling on top of him as he spiraled down from his high.

It was hot, messy and uncomfortable, but Alfred didn’t dare say a word as the other man lay heavily on his chest. It wasn’t too bad, really. Besides, he was too busy relaxing his muscles to mind the extra weight.

“...I love you.”

Alfred tensed up, his breath caught in his throat. So much for unwinding.

He couldn’t be sure if he had just imagined hearing Arthur say the words (after all, their heavy breathing was making a racket), but it wasn’t like he could ask the other man if he could repeat himself. He remained still beneath him, waiting for an elaboration, but none came.

The heavy, erratic breathing soon evened out and Alfred was left with a heavy unconscious weight on top of him.

A weight which loved him.

A weight he was supposed to escape from.

 

.x.

“...and then we’ll crawl under the- Alfred, are you listening to me?”

Alfred raised his eyes from the ground to meet his brother’s frustrated gaze and gave him a quick smile. “Yeah, of course.”

“What was I just saying, then?”

“We are going to crawl under...something. After we cross the gardens.”

Matthew thinned his lips as he gave him a long look, at the end of which he sighed and crawled over to where Alfred was sitting, his brow furrowing with concern.

“This is important, Alfred. I don’t feel like you’re really here with me.”

Alfred reassured his brother that he had his utmost attention, but they both knew he was lying. He couldn’t help it, though. His mind was far away, preoccupied with the man who had yet to repeat his declaration and was driving Alfred to think that he had imagined it all.

At this point it hardly even mattered if Arthur had said it or not. The notion that he _might_ love him, that he _might_ love him one day was enough of a distraction.

Did he want Arthur to love him? Was he important enough to Alfred for him to crave his affection?

He wasn’t supposed to be. Arthur loving him or not shouldn’t have mattered at all to him. He wasn’t going to stay in the estate for very long now that Matthew was going to get him out. His _master’s_ feelings were the last thing he was supposed to be worrying about.

Alfred would do better to worry about practical things like supplies, as Matthew then reminded him.

“Do you know what you’ll be taking? Do you have access to some kind of pantry?”

Alfred rose to his feet. “No, but I’ll figure something out,” he waved away Matthew’s scandalized frown with a confident grin. “Relax. I’ve got it covered. Speaking of which- do you even know where we’re going?”

Matthew’s face drew a blank for a moment before shifting gears to a nervous smile. “Of course. Out of here. That’s all that matters, right?” he pushed himself off the of the ground and turned to face his brother, taking his hands in his.

“I need to get you out of here, Alfred,” he swore in earnest, violet eyes brimming with conviction. “I can’t stand seeing you trapped like this, dressed like someone’s whore. You’re my brother.”

Alfred flinched. “It isn’t like that.”

The grip on his hands tightened. “It’s exactly like that. And I’m going to save you.”

 

.x.

_“Matthew?”  
_

_Alfred ran, his heart pounding in his chest. He had promised his mother to watch over his younger brother while she browsed the market stalls but it had taken only a minute of dawdling in front of the sweets vender to lose him in the crowd._

_If Matthew had been hurt or even worse, kidnapped, he’d never forgive himself. He had one job, and he had already failed._

_The bodies around him towered over Alfred, blocking his view as he tried to make his way through the swarm. Colorful shawls and exotic birds clouded his vision, strong spices and the stench of rotten fish overwhelmed him. Everything around him beckoned him to stop, to give up, to ask for help._

You’re an irresponsible little child _, they seemed to call out._ Let the grownups handle this.

_Alfred grit his teeth as he turned into a small alley. Matthew had been his responsibility. If anyone was going to find him, it was going to be-_

_“Alfred!”_

_Matthew’s panicked cry shot through Alfred’s body and sent him dashing towards his brother’s voice. There was no time to rejoice in having found him. The little guy was in trouble, and Alfred would be damned if he allowed anyone to hurt him._

_As he turned the corner, the scene became clear. His little brother had backed himself against the dirty alley wall, trembling from head to foot with tears in his eyes. A ragged old dog was snarling in front of him, baring his teeth._

_The one thing Matthew feared more than anything were dogs._

_Alfred ran over to his brother, waving his arms and making as much noise as possible. The old pooch gave him a long look before running off, most likely losing interest. Alfred watched him go with a satisfied smile before turning to his brother, whose back was still plastered to the wall._

_His pulse finally slowing to a normal beat, Alfred lowered himself to his knees so that he could look his brother in the eye. “It’s alright,” he murmured, taking Matthew’s hands in his and rubbing his knuckles soothingly. “The bad dog is gone. He won’t come back.”_

_Matthew’s trusting eyes met his. “You promise?”_

_“I do.”_

_A smile spread over the tear stained cheeks. “You saved me, Alfred.”_

_Alfred grinned and straightened up, tucking a stray strand of blond behind Matthew’s ear. “You bet I did. Now let’s get back before mom kills me.”_

_.x._

When had Matthew started saving _him_?

 

.x.

The shawarma had been exceptionally delicious. Alfred tore off a piece of pita bread and dipped it in the remaining sauce, allowing it to soak the spicy fluid before popping it in his mouth. With a small sigh he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

There would be no food like this when he was free.

A feeling that he was being looked at flooded Alfred’s senses and he cracked open an eye with a groan. “I can _feel_ you smirking at me, Arthur.”

“Guilty as charged,” Arthur replied with what was indeed a smirk, now that Alfred’s eyes were properly open.

“What’s so funny?”

Rather than answer him, Arthur reached out his palm and firmly cupped Alfred’s chin. Alfred inhaled sharply as Arthur drew close. His eyes fluttered to a close, expecting a kiss, but instead of a mouth on his own, Alfred felt something wet on his cheek.

Alfred flashed his eyes open quick enough to see Arthur’s tongue retreat into his mouth and feel the other man rub his thumb over the spot he had just licked. With what could only be considered a smug smile, Arthur let go of Alfred’s chin and pulled away.

When he saw that Alfred was following his every move, Arthur grinned and smacked his lips audibly.  “Delicious.”

Heat bloomed on Alfred’s cheeks. “What the hell was that?”

Arthur raised a delicate brow. “Language, Alfred. You had a dribble of sauce on your face. I kindly cleaned it for you.”

“Cleaned it? You call ravaging my face ‘cleaning’?”

A shrug. “I couldn’t resist. You’re absolutely ravishing.”

For once left speechless, Alfred lowered his eyes to his plate and contemplated his life.

_This isn’t so bad._

Maybe _staying_ wouldn’t be so bad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again :) I wanted to thank you all for your lovely reviews and comments! The situation is actually getting worse, though, in regards to my last AN. In the past I might have dedicated chapters to the memory of the people who have fallen, but looking back to when I used to do it- who wants a memorial of gay porn? uwu' So I guess I'll just say that I was deliberating if to post this chapter or not, but as you can see, I decided to go ahead with it. 
> 
> Life has to go on, as cruel as it may sound. And I'm going to keep writing because I have a story to tell, no matter how lewd or dramatized it is :')


	10. Elveda!

And it had started out as a nice day, too.

Alfred had woken up with Arthur curled around his back protectively, holding him close lest they fall apart even in sleep. He stayed still, basking in the warmth and recalling the night before. Evidence of their lovemaking was still damp between his legs and the marks on his neck were going to remain for a long time. Arthur never let them heal.

"What are you thinking of?"

Alfred smiled as he felt the words spoken against his shoulder. He loved the sound of Arthur's voice in the morning, rough and deep.

"You. Last night." He sighed softly and tilted his head back against Arthur's chest, just managing to meet his eyes. "I don't think I can walk."

Arthur chuckled throatily and moved his hands to rest heavily on Alfred's hips. "Don't think I don't know what you are up to," he peppered the back of his neck with short kisses. "You just want to waste the morning in bed, don't you?"

"Guilty as charged," Alfred grinned. He shifted his weight and turned so that he could look at Arthur properly. "So can I?"

Arthur clucked his tongue. "You are lucky you are prettiest when in my bed."

"I'm not pretty," Alfred insisted, making a face.

Arthur leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "No, you are not. You are absolutely beautiful."

 

.x.

 

Alfred was a human being. An intelligent, sentient (albeit enslaved) human being. Most people were reluctant to agree, if at all, but Alfred insisted on it. Never out loud, of course. Still, with his body subjugated to the wills and whims of another, a free mind was all he had, and he planned to cherish it. It was more than some other slaves had.

It was understandable. After being treated no better than animals, like merchandise to be bought and sold, it was hard to maintain a sense of self. Far easier to fall into step behind a master and relinquish thoughts of anything more challenging than their task at hand and perhaps their next meal. Better immerse yourself in the life you were provided with- why torture your mind with fantasies of something you will never have?

Aspiration. Ambition. Nobody used those words in the slaves quarters.

Alfred possessed both, and much more. Arthur never did anything to dampen his hopes, to quell his dreams. He never demanded him to erase his identity and never showed any signs of attempting to mold him into someone else.

Arthur treated him with respect. He was more of an employer than a master, really- one that employed his body and pleasured him, that is. Any restriction he imposed on Alfred made sense.

Which was why Alfred was willing to give up everything he had ever aspired for, had ever dreamed of. For him. Giving up his future as a freeman in order to remain by Arthur's side was the most liberating thing Alfred had ever done. It was his choice, and that made all the difference.

After all, didn't love mean making sacrifices?

What difference did it make if he was sitting at Arthur's feet, perched comfortably on the ground while the other was looking over his parchments on the couch? He would be rewarded later on in the bedroom, so what was a little bit of humility?

In fact, Alfred had recently decided that this time of day was his favorite. Full after a rich meal and a little drowsy, he would lean his head against Arthur's leg, thinking quietly to himself. The lamps lit the main room with a cozy light as the sun began to set in the distance.

A game had developed between the two of them to see how long Arthur could resist the petting and snuggling against his leg before being completely distracted from his work. A hand caressing Alfred's cheek would signal Arthur's submission to Alfred's touches and a wide smile would spread across Alfred's face as he'd tilt his head up and meet Arthur's lips halfway.

This was as close to domestic bliss as Alfred had ever come by.

Alfred could feel Arthur's hand rest heavily on the top of his head, a sure sign that he was on the verge of abandoning his work for the night when the doors to the room burst open. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the household guards rush in, terrified that they were going to grab him, but what followed was worse than any imprisonment.

They had Matthew.

Arthur's hand remained on his head, but the fingers which had been running through his hair gently now grabbed at the strands forcefully. Alfred winced, but wouldn't take his eyes off of his brother, who had been forced to his knees in front of him, hands tied behind his back. A dark welt stained Matthew's otherwise pale skin and his collar was torn.

Wishing the ground would swallow him whole, Alfred remained rooted in his place, doing his best to maintain a semblance of calm in the myriad of emotions sweeping over him and failing. His heart should have stopped, but it was preoccupied with beating uncontrollably in his chest.

They had been found out. His little brother was hurt, and was most likely going to suffer far more than a bruised cheek. Yet all Alfred could think of was his mortification at being seen by his brother like this, at his master's feet.  _Disappointment_  practically radiated from Matthew's eyes.

"We apologize for disturbing you, sir," the taller of the two guards addressed Arthur, barely even flickering his eyes over Alfred and for the most part ignoring him. "But we found this man walking in the gardens."

Alfred tore his eyes away from his brother and stared at the floor resolutely. If Arthur noticed any of the emotional turmoil he was going through, he didn't show it. Instead, he leaned back against the pillows and studied Matthew carefully.

"Who are you?" he finally inquired.

Matthew raised his head to look at Arthur squarely in the face. "I don't owe you anything."

The second guard, who stood in back of Matthew in case he should try to escape, struck him hard across the head with the sheathe of his sword. Alfred cried out and began to reach forward to his brother, but stopped himself just in time. Intervening would only make it worse.

"You will address Overseer Kirkland with proper respect, scum," the guard spat.

Alfred could see the flash of pain unsettle Matthew, just like it always did when he was hurt. Only this time, Alfred couldn't wrap his arms around him and reassure him that everything would be alright.

Arthur's voice rose sharply in irritation. "Let's try this again. Who are you? I have no qualms with imprisoning you on the spot. You might as well explain yourself."

From looking at Matthew's face, Alfred could see that he was continuing his silent resistance with his eyes before taking a deep breath and looking down. "My name is Matthew...sir," he added stiffly.

"And what were you doing in the gardens? You are not part of this household's staff."

Matthew glanced briefly at Alfred, which turned out to be a wrong move. Arthur's hand moved from the top of Alfred's head to cup his cheek and press him closer to his leg. "My concubine has nothing to do with this. Stop looking at him like that."

"He isn't your concubine!" Matthew snapped. Having regained his confidence through his conviction, he struggled against the hands pushing him down and bared his teeth at Arthur. "He belongs with me!"

Silence. Then- "how dare you threaten me!"

Fuck.

Arthur stood up and dragged Alfred to his feet, clutching him by the waist and pressing him to his side. With his other hand, he grabbed Alfred's chin and turned his face in Matthew's direction.

"This man is mine. Guards, take him away to-"

"Not for long he isn't!" Matthew cut Arthur off. "I'm going to take him with me, far away from here, where he belongs!"

"Enough!" Arthur shouted. Then, checking himself, he continued almost softly- "enough. This man is an intruder who was planning to steal my property. I'm sure the authorities will do the right thing. After all," his smile was grim. "We all know the punishment for theft."

The guards nodded and yanked Matthew up by his arm, dragging him towards the door. Alfred stood stunned at Arthur's side before he pulled himself away and ran to his brother, grabbing him and pulling him away from the uniformed men.

He had to stop them. Theft was punishable by severing one's hand, but once the authorities realized that Matthew was a runaway slave...

Alfred wouldn't allow them to kill his little brother.

"Stop!" he cried, struggling with the guards. He turned his head over his shoulder and met Arthur's bewildered eyes with his own, pleading gaze. "He isn't a thief!"

Arthur's eyes widened and ordered the guards to halt. Then, walking forward, he grabbed Alfred by the shoulders and shook him. "What do you mean, he isn't a thief? He was going to kidnap you!"

"No. He was going to help me escape," Alfred said quietly, meeting Arthur's eyes despite himself. "He... he's my brother."

He could see the shock in Arthur's expression and it cut through him like a sharp knife. He wanted to quickly add that he had changed his mind, that he wasn't going to leave him, but Arthur then let go of him as if burned and turned away.

"Take this man away," he curtly instructed the guards. "I don't care what you do with him. I want him out of my sight."

Alfred reached out to take Matthew's hand, but he was pulled away out of the door. He managed to see him mouth "thank you" at him and see his sad smile before the door closed and he was left alone with Arthur.

Slowly, Alfred turned away from the door and looked hesitantly in Arthur's direction. The man was bent over the couch and was gathering his papers. He still had his back to him when Alfred drew close and reached to put his hand on his shoulder, but Arthur yanked himself away from his touch.

Alfred flinched, but wouldn't be deterred. He was going to make this right. "Arthur, I can explain-"

"Do not overstep your boundaries, slave," Arthur said coolly, gathering the parchment in his arms and turning to face him. "I am your master, not your friend."

Alfred bit his lip, but nodded. He deserved that. "I apologize, master, but please-"

Arthur raised his hand. "I do not want to hear it. In fact, I do not want to hear  _you_. Ever again."

"But master!"

"Silence!" Arthur growled. He drew a deep breath and exhaled shakily, his shoulders sagging. "Leave me be. Withdraw to the sleeping hall immediately- I am reassigning you to the kitchens."

Alfred's eyes began to water and his throat contracted as he watched Arthur turn his back to him and walk away into their bedroom. No,  _his_ bedroom. He had been officially banished.

And it had started out as a nice day, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, we aren't even close to the end ;) Comments are appreciated!


	11. Shades of Blue

When they talk about the 'walk of shame', most people are referring to that early morning scampering between rooms after a night of dubious passion. The lipstick mark might still be visible on your cheek or perhaps your partner forgot their bra when they rushed out of your bed.

This happened frequently in the slave quarters. Carnal sin was one of the few pleasures they had and everyone knew so. The guards would turn a blind eye to the frantic movements under the covers and shut their ears to the low groans and high pitched cries of release. A happy slave force meant a smoothly run household. As long as you made it back to your own cot by first light, no one said a word.

Alfred’s walk of shame was most likely the first of its kind to embarrass its walker for _not_ having sex. Even the official concubines never had to suffer the indignity of being moved when their master grew tired of them- they resided in the harems until the day they died. That being said, one had to wonder how was it that no concubine in the Bonnefoy household had so much as a wrinkle. Alfred surely didn’t know.

The mystery of the ageless concubines was the farthest from Alfred’s mind, though, as he made his way back down to the slaves’ quarters.  Being a possession himself, Alfred had no right to own anything- not even the clothes on his back. He hadn’t had anything to pack after being exiled from Arthur’s rooms, which left him with the simple task of opening the door and showing himself out. He didn’t have any time to grieve. The change in his life was ruthlessly immediate.

He felt out of place the moment he set foot in the familiar sea of mattresses. The screens which divided the hall into symbolic rooms, the colorful blankets and even the smell of soap triggered a flow of memories as Alfred’s heels clicked against the stone floor. Memories of a time when strategies to pile his plate at mealtime was his biggest worry.

Too much had happened since Alfred had scrambled in the darkness to follow a guard to Arthur’s quarters. He wasn’t the same person who had joked playfully in the kitchens about Ashai’s height. If anything, his tight-fitted tunic and larger thighs served as a stark indicator. He didn’t even _look_ like the man he used to be.

He didn’t look like his peers anymore, and nobody wanted to be _that one guy_.

“Alfred?”

No. Alfred had wanted, _needed_ time to go over the last hour in his mind before encountering anyone. Before talking. At the very least, he deserved five minutes of solitude before being intruded on.

Still, there wasn’t anything he could do but turn around and offer Ashai a weak smile. “Hello, Ashai.”

His friend’s face was the picture of confusion. Openly gaping, the man seemed to be at a loss for words. Alfred had to fight down the urge to punch the other for staring so blatantly, but instead he maintained his smile as he waited for Ashai to speak.

Moments later, Ashai appeared to have realized that he had been staring, and quickly averted his eyes from looking directly at Alfred’s face. A large, somewhat apologetic smile showed his slightly crooked teeth as he walked up to Alfred and grasped his shoulder.

“It’s good to see you! How are you doing?”

Alfred flinched away from the touch. Furrowing his brows, Ashai pulled his hand away and took a step back. Alfred immediately felt a rush of guilt- Ashai didn’t deserve to have Alfred’s hurt projected onto him. He was a good friend who had only ever helped him.

“I’m sorry,” Alfred apologized, digging his nails into his palms. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just... I’m not very well, actually.”

Ashai’s look of hurt transformed into obvious worry, which made Alfred feel worse. “No, _I’m_ sorry,” Ashai gushed, clasping Alfred’s hand in his own and pulling him toward his mattress. He pushed Alfred down onto the soft surface and seated himself next to him. They sat in silence for a minute, unsure of how to continue. Neither of them knew what to say- they had never really discussed serious emotions beforehand.

In the end, it was Alfred who broke the silence. He figured he owed it to Ashai, who must have felt that he had walked into their encounter without realizing the consequences.

“I, um... I’ve been assigned back to the kitchens.”

Understanding reflected from Ashai’s eyes. “What happened?”

What happened? What _didn’t_ happen? Alfred had been demoted, his heart had been broken and he had no idea what was going to become of his brother.

“Arthur...Kirkland decided to let me go,” he said slowly, weighing every word carefully. “He doesn’t want me in his bed anymore.”

Ashai frowned. “Why? He liked you well enough, didn’t he?”

Shrugging, Alfred leaned back against the mattress and closed his eyes. “I thought so.”

His friend clucked his tongue sympathetically. “Well, it’s his loss. How about I bring you a change of clothes and something warm to drink?”

Alfred cracked his eyes open long enough to flash Ashai a grateful smile. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

Ashai smiled back at him with a hint of mischief in the curve of his lips. “You’re lucky I’m on my break now. I don’t even want to know what people would say if someone saw you down here wearing _silk_!”

.x.

There was talk. Of course there was talk. It wasn’t every day that a kitchen slave became the Overseer’s concubine, much the less that said concubine returned to being a mere kitchen slave.

The kitchen staff was polite in Alfred’s presence if not a bit distant once they realized that Alfred wouldn’t be divulging any delicious details. He was sure that they discussed him when he wasn’t there, swapping theories and sharing  their opinions with whoever would stop to listen. Everyone else did.

Alfred didn’t have the time to dwell on any kind of rumours circulating behind his back. On top of everything that had happened, the question of his arrest still hovered over his head like a dark cloud. Every night he went to sleep at Ashai’s side, wondering if he will be woken up by aggressive tugging and shoved into a dark cell, or even worse, an execution block. Would the loss of Arthur’s favor result in the loss of his life?

Apparently, no. At the very least, not yet. Alfred saw countless guards pass him during the day, but not one of them stopped him or bound his hands behind his back. It was as if the last two months had never happened, that he had never been accused of anything and had never enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in Arthur’s arms.

Arthur.

_Arthur._

Alfred never pursued that thread of thought. He _couldn’t_. If he smiled and joked and ate with the rest of the slaves and never thought of him, he wouldn’t have the time to feel loss.  Or so Alfred had hoped. In reality, his pain managed to poison even the brightest of smiles even if he hadn’t been remembering in his mind’s eye the lazy morning kisses he shared with his lover.The pain was always there, a throbbing reminder that no, he wasn’t okay.

Pain deserved to be felt, perhaps, but Alfred refused to acknowledge it.

Pain, coincidentally, was also a luxury not many could afford. Certainly not Alfred. A slave had to function despite what he may be feeling at the time. He couldn’t curl up under the covers or hide himself away in an unused room. He had to work.

Matthew was a constant in his mind as well. Alfred looked around but mostly listened for any mentioning of a blond trespasser, but he heard nothing. There was no talk of recent imprisonment or execution. Alfred should have felt relieved, but the absence of such gossip only served to worry him further. What kind of torture could be so severe that it would result in a ring of silence?

In the midst of it all, Alfred had come to assume that due to the lack of details, his rejection would soon be forgotten and be set aside in the favor of a more recent, juicer scandal.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

The taunting had started out as faux friendly comments with matching fake smiles. They stung, but Alfred would brush them aside and smile back, going along with it for the sake of his peace of mind.

The comments grew nastier. More blunt. Until, one day-

“What, do you think you’re better than the rest of us?”

Alfred blinked. All he had done was ask to be excused after a long day of scrubbing dirty dishes in the heat. His body was slowly adjusting to the physical labor he had grown unaccustomed to, but he still had a while to go before reaching his previous standards of durability.

The steam and the sun beating down on his head had given him a terrible headache. Alfred had tried to work through it, biting the inside of his cheek when all he could feel was the repetitive drumming of his pulse in his temples. An hour later, the dishes were blurry at the edges and he was focusing with all his might on keeping his lunch down.

Slaves appealed to their superiors for rest all the time. There were enough people to cover for you if you were too ill to do your job. As long as you didn’t approach them too often, the slave in charge of the group would excuse you. Unless you were terribly sick, most slaves reported back the next morning. It was dangerous to come off as an ill slave- the next thing you knew, you’d be back on the auction block with rouge on your cheeks to disguise your sickly complexion.

Two weeks had passed since Alfred had returned to the kitchens, and not once had he asked to be excused. Until now.

“Of course not!” Alfred protested, wincing as another wave of nausea had to be swallowed down.

His superior frowned at him. “Just because you were the Overseer’s whore doesn’t mean that you’re allowed special privileges. You’re not being served on a bent knee anymore. He threw you out.”

Denied after its first attempt, the bile worked its way up Alfred’s throat, burning everything in its path. “I know,” he grit his teeth. A furtive look around him revealed that he was being watched by everyone in the vicinity.  Well, wasn’t that just what he needed?

“I’m just... I really don’t have the energy for this, okay? I’ll work super hard tomorrow, I swear-”

“Can you hear yourself? ‘I, I, I’. It isn’t all about you anymore, Jones. You’re back to being one of us now. Better start acting like it.”

“I can’t work like this!”

The man shook his head. “Enough with the dramatics. Go back to your work.”

Alfred couldn’t hold it in much longer. Consequences be damned, he pushed by his superior and rushed back inside.

“Jones!”

Alfred couldn’t hear him over the sound of emptying out his stomach into a basin.

.x.

How Alfred had made his way to the gardens after that was nothing short of a miracle. With his headache thundering and his throat burned raw, the first place that had come to mind had been his mattress (that was a lie), which was of course out of the question. That would be the first place his supervisor would go to in search of him.

He didn’t really want to be outside again, but after a short deliberation, Alfred figured that he wouldn’t be looked for in the gardens. Nobody in their right mind would go back outside after a touch of dehydration.

In his defense, Alfred wasn’t in his right mind.

Thankfully, he managed to find a shady area beneath a large tree before he collapsed to the ground, holding his head tightly between his hands and he folded himself against the hard wood. He hoped that if he held on tight enough and closed his eyes, his head would stop spinning. It didn’t.

There hadn’t been anyone in the area when Alfred had stumbled on the smooth stones, but to be fair, his vision wasn’t at its finest. That would have to explain the footsteps he heard, rapidly growing closer. Or maybe it was his pulse?

Alfred opened his eyes to find the world spinning. He reflexively swallowed, only to realize that there wasn’t anything left to expel. He groaned.

“Are you alright?”

Those words and a brief flash of blue were the last things Alfred knew before the world stopped spinning and finally, finally, turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I shamelessly quoted "The Fault in Our Stars" ;)
> 
> On another note, if you want to read more from this au, feel free to check out my tumblr (hannaadi88)! I'm going to post drabbles every now and then, and I've already written a short snippet of Arthur and Alfred's first time from Arthur's POV. You can find it under my tag of 'fanfiction'.
> 
> And no worries- Alfred is going to have a lot of time to dwell and think about Arthur. He's just a reincarnation of the queen of deNile at the mo'.


	12. Everything Back But You

 

The first thing Alfred noticed when he drifted back into consciousness was the blanket on top of him. He was pretty sure that he had fallen asleep (fainted, really, but that didn’t sound too masculine, did it?) devoid of anything comforting. In fact, he knew for certain that he had been in the gardens. Yet there was no grass beneath his fingers when he flexed them and no manner of breeze on his skin.

He was lying on something soft. He could feel the smooth fabric of a mattress underneath his splayed limbs. For a moment his breath caught in his throat. This was not the slaves’ dormitory. Could he be...did he dare hope?

Alfred cracked open his eyes, expecting to see vivid green peering back at him. The world snapped back into focus with a frenzy of colors instead. A crimson canopy hung over his head, above which was a beautifully colored ceiling, detailing foreign scenery in the lightest of blues.  It was only then, when his sight was regained, that Alfred began to notice everything else: the incessant chatter surrounding him, the scent of perfume and spice permeating the air and most importantly, a pair of hands snaking up his thigh.

This was not Arthur’s room, and that most certainly was _not_ Arthur’s hand. Alfred bolted back against the headboard, scraping his elbows against the wood and hitting the back of his head with a dull thud, but he disregarded the momentary pain. His eyes snapped up to the owner of the hand after batting it away automatically, only to realize that he had just struck a girl. Unintentionally, of course, but the guilt in having done so chastened his anger.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized swiftly, offering the girl a tentative smile. “You kinda startled me, that’s all. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The girl pulled her chair back from the bed with a frown. “Not only are you fat, but you’re violent as well. What lord Francis sees in you is beyond me.”

Gone was Alfred’s remorse. His cheeks flamed at the offensive comment, but rather than pick a fight, he cleared his throat and ignored it. He was at a disadvantage so long as he remained in the dark about his current location, and he didn’t even know the girl’s name.

“Where am I?”

Brown eyes lit up in surprise. “Isn’t it obvious?” she threw the question back at him, standing up and pulling back the flimsy canopy for Alfred to see. “You’re in the harem.”

Alfred’s mind spun. Now that the dark red material was parted, he could see the source of the chatter more clearly. Girls- at least a dozen of them- were flitting in and out of the hall, conversing in high tones with their fellow concubines. Other girls dressed in solid colored tunics were pouring wine into other women’s glasses, fanning groups of threes and fours and applying henna to reclining beauties.

Not one man in sight.

“Why?” he blurted, snapping his gaze back to the girl. Now that he looked at her closely, he noticed that she was dressed in the same solid colored tunic as the rest of the serving girls. The realization (he was having many of those lately) that she had been waiting on him struck a nervous chord in the back of his throat. He hadn’t been served since his expulsion from Arthur’s chambers. What did all of this mean?

“Why am I here?”

The servant girl shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Maybe lord Francis can explain it to you when you see him.”

Alfred paled. His grip on the hem of the blanket tightened. “What do you mean, see him?”

The blanket was yanked out of his hands, exposing him to the cool air in the room. “That’s exactly what I mean,” the girl snapped, shoving a towel to his chest.  “You have been ordered to appear before him once you make yourself presentable. I hope you don’t need me to explain that as well?”

Shaking his head, Alfred pushed away from the bed, clutching the towel to his chest. He was completely bare but after one cursory glance at his pelvis, the girl looked away with an air or boredom. He supposed that she had seen it all, but the disinterest did nothing for his self-esteem. Alfred sighed softly and wrapped the towel around his hips and looked around questioningly.

“You can wash in there,” the girl absently waved towards a side room at the end of the hall. “I’m supposed to say that you should call on me if you need anything,” she gave him a sharp look, “but don’t. I’ll collect you once I find something for you to wear.”

And with that she was gone, walking towards a cluster of girls and pausing to exchange a few words, effectively leaving him to make his way to the room alone and half naked with all eyes on him.

Did she really think that a dose of humiliation was going to break him? Alfred shook his head and forced his lips into a confident smile. Stupid, jealous girl.

If only he knew what exactly she was jealous of, though.

 

.x.

 

“I see you’re alive. I wasn’t so sure you were when I found you.”

Alfred blinked at the older man from beneath his fringe. For all of the talk about the man who owned them all in the slaves’ quarters, he had never seen lord Francis Bonnefoy in the flesh. There had never been talk of cruelty or mindless beatings, but the basic assumption that a man with power was that he would abuse it one way or the other. Yet standing with his head bowed and his skin prickling with the knowledge that he was being studied from head to toe, Alfred didn’t sense an air of malevolence surrounding his master. In fact, the most he could feel radiating from the lord Bonnefoy was curiosity.

He wasn’t sure if he was expected to reply, or what the policy was with addressing the man. What Bonnefoy had said was more of a statement than anything else, and what exactly was he supposed to say? ‘Yes, I’m alive’? Some may consider him to be simple, but Alfred wasn’t an idiot. In the end, he made do with a dutiful nod, his eyes remaining respectfully downcast.

The sound of the lord Bonnefoy humming in consideration resonated throughout the small room. Alfred had been surprised when he had been showed into the lord’s private rooms. He had expected the elegance which defined the entirety of the Bonnefoy household to define his personal rooms as well, but while the rooms themselves were decorated in good taste, nothing about them was particularly extravagant. They were only a little bit bigger than Arthur’s rooms.

How odd.

They did look cozy and inviting, though. Bonnefoy certainly appeared to be comfortable on the couch he was sitting on. He was dressed simply, but in such a way that suited him well. His cream colored tunic billowed around his legs, accentuated by a wide crimson belt inlaid with yellow. His overcoat tastefully matched his belt in color and widened at the cuffs, granting the pale white hands a graceful air when they moved. Lord Bonnefoy looked good, to be sure, but his attire wasn’t what made him look regal.

It was the way he talked. It was the way he’d casually tuck a strand of stray blond hair behind his ear. It was the way he sat, poised and powerful in his seat.

It was the way he made Alfred feel very, very insignificant in comparison.

Yet he must have meant something, since there he was, a mere kitchen slave standing in front of the lord of the estate.

“Yes, you were a worrying sight indeed. To see such beauty sitting lifelessly in the sun! What a waste that would have been! You must take better care of yourself, child.”

Alfred raised his head in astonishment. He had been expecting to be berated for running away from his duties, for endangering the life of Bonnefoy’s property- not to be called a beauty, of all things. He wasn’t blind to his own appeal (why else had Arthur wanted him?), but no. He had most definitely not expected that. Not from lord Bonnefoy.

“I-I apologize,” he stammered, still unsure if he should be addressing the man, but feeling the need to say _something._ He probably shouldn’t be looking at him in the eye as well, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. There was a look of concern on Bonnefoy’s face, and wasn’t that peculiar? When was the last time someone had looked at him like that, who wasn’t of kin?

“I shouldn’t have put my life in jeopardy like that. I’m sorry to have worried you.”

Bonnefoy studied him for a moment before nodding. “You’re forgiven. Make sure it never happens again.” His demeanor changed abruptly as his face broke into a smile. “Your name is Alfred, correct? How do you like your outfit? We can find you another if it isn’t to your taste.”

Alfred shook his head and laughed nervously. He had never worn something this fine, not even in Arthur’s quarters. The serving girl had seemed rather reluctant to hand it over to him.

“No, um, I mean, yes, my name is Alfred and this suits me just fine, thank you. It’s very soft and I like blue so...” he realized that he was rambling and trailed off, cheeks coloring in flustration. Bonnefoy merely chuckled.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said sincerely, leaning slightly forward in his seat and offering him a warm smile. “I chose it for you myself. It matches your eyes.”

Alfred was saved the need to reply and make a fool out of himself. A loud knock followed by the sound of the door opening cut off their conversation and diverted Bonnefoy’s attention. Alfred visibly relaxed and allowed himself to breathe properly for what felt like the first time since waking up in the harem. He had been starting to feel rather uncomfortable.

“Ah, Arthur, come in! We’ve been expecting you!”

No. No, they have not. Alfred froze, not daring to look over his shoulder at the source of the footsteps growing increasingly closer. He lowered his eyes automatically as Arthur entered his line of vision and refused to look up as the man paused to stand next to him, inclining his head in a small bow in Bonnefoy’s direction.

“You summoned me?”

“Yes,” Bonnefoy responded cheerfully. “I wanted to discuss with you the matter of this lovely young man standing beside you. I believe you know Alfred...?”

Alfred could feel the other’s eyes on him. His body was growing warm.

“I do.”

Bonnefoy hummed. “I thought so. You took him in as your personal slave, did you not? Why was he returned to the kitchens?”

There was a long pause. “He betrayed me. He made plans to join his brother and escape his bondage.”

“What, this pretty little thing?” Bonnefoy tutted. “I highly doubt he did any such thing. And even if he did plan on escaping, you must have done something to scare him off. Content slaves do not run away, Arthur.”

Alfred, whose eyes were still on the ground, could hear the familiar sound of Arthur inhaling sharply. This time, he was sure, it wasn’t from pleasure.

“If you say so, my lord.”

“How obedient of you,” Bonnefoy wryly observed, waiting a moment before continuing. “You always strive to please me, don’t you, Arthur?”

“Of course!”

Alfred shifted uncomfortably. Something about the atmosphere in the room had changed, and it was making him nervous.

“In that case, might you recall my order the last time I sent you to the market, Arthur? What did I send you to purchase in my name?”

“Slaves,” Arthur said softly. “You wanted new concubines.”

“And what did I want, exactly? Please specify.”

“...you wanted a male concubine, my lord.”

Alfred raised his head sharply. The calm exterior on Bonnefoy’s face was truly alarming. He was glad the man’s gaze wasn’t focused on him.

“Indeed. Yet I never got one, despite the funds I specifically set aside for it. You told me there were no men to my taste that day on the market, Arthur. You told me you bought a kitchen hand instead. You lied to me. Your ‘kitchen slave’ was, in fact, your very own concubine. You desired him on the block and purchased him for your own sake and lied to me. Is my analysis correct?”

Alfred finally risked a glance in Arthur’s direction. This was all new to him and the implications of it set him on edge. Arthur didn’t look very well either- his face was pale and his hands were balled into fists at his sides.

He was expected to answer, however, and with what looked like a lot of effort, he nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

Even with all that had happened, Alfred’s heart reached out to him. To see the great Arthur Kirkland humbled so for his sake was painful. He had to hold himself back from reaching out and embracing him- such an act would do neither of them any good.

“I see,” Bonnefoy said quietly, his placid exterior giving way to a frown. “I could have you imprisoned for stealing from me, Arthur. You took what was rightfully mine and tried to make it your own, and when that didn’t work, threw it away.”

“However,” he continued, “I think your experience serves as punishment enough. I can see you have suffered. May this serve as a lesson for you to not covet what is not yours.”

He extended his hand toward Alfred. “Come here, Alfred,” he beckoned, and Alfred obeyed, taking a cautious step forward. Bonnefoy’s hand was warm and soft around his own. He was yanked closer and was turned around, forced haphazardly into the man’s lap, trapped between the other’s arms. His surprise was mirrored on Arthur’s face.

“Fear not, child,” Bonnefoy whispered in his ear soothingly, one hand reaching forward to gently rub his leg. “I am reclaiming you. You will never be rejected and sent away again.”

His heart beating fast in his ribcage, Alfred looked up at Arthur frantically, expecting him to intervene. Hadn’t he promised to make him his? Had Arthur not bitten his claim into his skin for nights on end, murmuring how he belonged there, with him, to him? Wasn’t he going to try to protest?

A glimmer of _something_ flickered in Arthur’s eyes and he made to step forward, but it passed as quickly as he came. Instead, he looked away, gritting his teeth, and was quick to leave the room once dismissed.

Alfred watched his retreating form silently.

 

.x.

 

Bonnefoy’s touch was gentle. If anything could be said about the man, it was that he was gentle. And very talented. Alfred worried he might soil the silken sheets beneath him, but Bonnefoy smiled and reassured him that it wouldn’t be a problem.

It would be a shame, though, as far as Alfred was concerned. The silk felt wonderful against his bare skin. His mind was soon turned away from his surroundings, however, and his focus returned (and remained) on the man hovering above him on his forearms, peppering kisses alongside the column of his neck. He arched his back and tilted his head, sighing softly as his Adam’s Apple was sucked at.

His sigh grew into a full-fledged moan as his length was suddenly taken hold of and stroked. His eyes fluttered closed and he bit his lips, suppressing any more unbecoming sounds. A mouth flitted across his own and pried his lips open with its tongue, laving at the sensitive skin inside. When he pulled away, Bonnefoy smiled down at him endearingly.

“Don’t hold back, darling. You make the most delicious sounds.”

Alfred’s throat tightened and he nodded; raising his leg to wrap around the man’s hip and press their crotches together. He could hear Bonnefoy hiss and the hand around his cock picked up its pace, feeding the fire in the pit of his belly even further.

When he was entered there was no pain, only mild discomfort. Bonnefoy had made sure of that. The snap of his hips and the hand on Alfred’s length drove him over the edge and he climaxed between them, his seed smearing on their stomachs.

It felt wonderful to be worshiped and pleasured like a deity, it was. Even though Bonnefoy wrapped him in his embrace and swore that he was an excellent bedmate and that they were made to be together, Alfred couldn’t help but feel that something was missing.

It felt good, but it didn’t feel _right._ And the only person with whom it all made sense had just given him up. Again.


	13. Tarnished Gold

“Move your leg a little, darling.”

The hand which had been smoothing the fabric on the small of Alfred’s back glided down his bottom, taking a moment to pause and squeeze the supple flesh before continuing down to his calf. Alfred fidgeted uncomfortably while growing warm under the touch, yet reluctant to pull away completely. Be it because Francis’s hand was doing wonderful things or because he wasn’t programed to refuse a direct order, he wasn’t sure. Either way he obediently parted his legs to allow the other’s hand to pat down the cloth around his thigh.

A few squeezes, tugs and pats later Francis straightened up on the edge of the bed and pulled back, humming pleasantly as he surveyed his work. “Turn around for me?”

It was a little awkward turning around himself, but Alfred complied, laughing a little in embarrassment. Once he completed a full circle he stopped to face his master, wringing his hands behind his back as he did during inspection.

Francis looked at him for a long moment before sighing and shaking his head. Alfred’s heart dropped.

“No, no. The color isn’t right. I told you, Alfred. Green simply doesn’t suit you.”

Alfred’s shoulders drooped. “I really like it, though,” he said tentatively, watching the other’s face closely. He was being encouraged for the past few weeks to express his desires and preferences, but it still felt odd outright contradicting his owner. He was waiting for the moment the older man would grow tired of him and strike him for disagreeing, but so far his waiting and worrying was breeding nothing more than anxiety.

Francis reached out and took his hand, caressing his knuckles gently with his thumb. “If it means that much to you, darling, then you can keep it. As long as I get to help you out of it,” he added teasingly, the crinkles around his eyes deepening with his smile.

“But...you just helped me put it on,” Alfred stammered, his cheeks a bright shade of crimson. The uncensored adoration and flirting was very much a novelty as well.

“That never stopped me before,” Francis shrugged before flipping Alfred’s hand and pressing a kiss to his wrist, lingering over his pulse. “Besides, you look your best bare and flush beneath me.”

Alfred was spared the need to formulate a reply (which was a good thing, really. It was hard to keep up with his master’s witty banter which left him gaping like a fish and searching his mind frantically for a suitable retort. With the amount of comebacks he had come up with so far, Alfred was surprised the other man hadn’t grown tired of him yet).

With a tug, he was prompted to fall into Francis’s arms, who immediately began peppering his neck with quick, soft pecks. Alfred adjusted his hips and pressed down against the other man who groaned throatily and dragged his teeth shallowly against his throat. A wave of arousal washed over Alfred, leaving him gasping at the other’s touch. He didn’t care much about the color of his clothing, now.

Francis flipped them over after he pulled away from Alfred’s lips, only to press back against them once Alfred was pinned firmly beneath him, legs spread just like he preferred.

“You were made for me,” Francis said breathlessly, repeating what was a variation of a statement he made every time they made love. He rolled his hips, brushing up against Alfred’s arousal. “You were destined for my bed.”

Alfred had long learned not to bite back his reactions; a loud moan echoed through the room, cut off by a searing pair of lips on his own. There was something about his words, however, which made Alfred pause.

Regardless of how and for what purpose he had been born, he had not been alone. From the time of Matthew’s birth until his most recent auction block, he had always been with his brother, looking out for him and making sure that he had enough to eat every night. Yet there he was, basking in luxury while the most important person in his life was missing.

He was a terrible brother.

“Darling? What is the matter?”

Alfred blinked. His body was no longer completely pinned- Francis was hovering over him, frowning. Paling, Alfred scrambled to wrap his arms around the other’s neck and pull him down for a kiss.

“Nothing. I was just lost in thought.”

“No,” Francis insisted, pulling back from the kiss and rolling to his side, one arm still slung over Alfred’s abdomen. His frown, Alfred realized, was one of worry, not displeasure. “Tell me. You’re troubled about something.”

Resigning himself to disclosure, Alfred inhaled deeply. He wasn’t about to refuse a direct order.

“I was thinking about my brother, my lord. I’m worried about him. I haven’t seen or heard from him since...since he was caught. I don’t know what has become of him.”

A flicker of something flashed in Francis’s eyes, something Alfred couldn’t recognize. Before he could ask about it, however, Francis scooted closer and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Your brother is fine, my dear,” he reassured him, murmuring the words against his skin. “Arthur informed me that he had been banished from the premises, warned never to return. No harm has been done to him within my knowledge.”

Alfred’s eyes widened as he turned to face the other man. “Really?” he searched for confirmation in Francis’s face, relief flooding his body. “He wasn’t imprisoned?”

“No, he wasn’t,” Francis promised, smiling reassuringly at him.

Grinning harder than he had in weeks, Alfred beamed with excitement. “Do you think you could find him? See that he’s alright? Maybe- could I write him a letter? May I see him again? I swear I won’t try to run away,” he added quickly, meeting the other’s eyes. “I just want to make sure that he’s alive and well.”

Francis hesitated before offering Alfred a warm smile. “Of course, darling,” he cupped Alfred’s cheek in his hand. “I’ll send men to seek him out tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Alfred gushed, rolling on top of Francis in his enthusiasm and leaning down for a heated kiss. “Thank you.”

His throat was sore in the morning and his lips were thoroughly bitten, but Alfred didn’t care.

He was going to see Matthew.

 

.x.

 

Life as lord Bonnefoy’s lover was very different than anything Alfred had experienced with Arthur. Aside from their obsession with vocally and physically laying their claim on him, Arthur and Francis lacked the similarity Alfred would have expected of two men keeping him as their bedmate.

There was a softness in Francis which Alfred had never felt Arthur express towards him. Francis was gentle, soothing and radiated kindness regardless of who he spoke to. What Arthur lacked in empathy he made up in passion; Alfred experienced pleasure at Francis’s hands, but the fire he had shared with his previous master couldn’t be duplicated. Not when...well.

The most obvious difference was the fact that while Arthur had Alfred with him at all times, lord Bonnefoy had access to over fifteen other women. Alfred had always slept in Arthur’s bed while the other had still wanted him but after the novelty faded, Francis invited him less frequently to spend the night. It was hard to enjoy yourself as much when you knew that you were competing with a whole bunch of other people, all of whom were vying for Francis’s favor.

It made his stay at the harem all the less pleasant.

“Are you sure you want this?”

Alfred nodded, gesturing to his legs. “I am. All the women here sugar their legs. If lord Bonnefoy prefers smooth skin, I can endure the pain.”

The girl still looked skeptical. “While that may be true, the fact remains that you’re a man. Perhaps he likes you for _not_ sugaring your legs.”

His determination wavered a bit at that. Maybe the girl was right- maybe Francis liked his legs hairy. He had specifically requested a male concubine when Arthur had gone to the market, after all.

And yet he hadn’t been summoned for over a week. Not since lord Bonnefoy promised to find his brother. Perhaps Francis had grown tired of having a man in his bed. What did Alfred need to do to get noticed? Put ochre on his lips? Line his eyes with kohl? That’s what the others in the harem did.

That’s what he was going to do.

“I don’t care,” Alfred waved his hand dismissively, banishing any lingering doubt. “You’re a beautician, and your job is to attend to everyone in the harem. I want to have my legs sugared.”

Shrugging, the girl opened her case and settled herself on a pillow next to Alfred’s legs, pushing his tunic up to his thighs. “It’s your choice,” she muttered as she began to mix something in a jar. “Don’t come back crying to me if the lord doesn’t approve.”

Alfred ignored her and closed his eyes, blocking out the hubbub of the room and focusing on the warm syrup being applied to his skin. A few minutes later he could hear the girl mumble something about bracing himself before a shock of pain coursed through his body. Alfred bolted up from the pillows and reached out instinctively only to have his hand slapped away by an irritated beautician.

“Oh my. Can’t stand a little bit of discomfort, can’t you?”

Alfred turned his head at the familiar voice. Laline was standing at the doorway, her mouth pursed in amusement. Sighing, Alfred turned away and closed his eyes once more.

“Go away, Laline.”

“What, and miss seeing your face contort in agony?” she grinned, parting the curtain and taking a seat on one of the nearest cushions. “Not a chance.”

Alfred kept his eyes firmly closed, hoping to bore the woman away with no response. Instead, she continued to sit and watch as the beautician molded ball after ball of syrup and smoothed it on Alfred’s skin, waiting for it to harden before pulling it off.

“If it hurts so much, you could always stop with one leg,” Laline offered, the smugness in her voice unmistakable. “Lord Bonnefoy seems to favor anomalies.”

Alfred opened his eyes and shot her a look of pure irritation. “Is that why he’s summoned you twice in a row?” he countered, narrowing his eyes.

Laline frowned. “Of course not. He adores me. You, on the other hand... you haven’t seen him in a week, have you? Is this a pathetic attempt at his attention?”

“What do you want, Laline?” Alfred lay back against the cushions, sighing heavily. “It’s unlike you to be this social.”

“You wouldn’t be able to tell,” Laline smirked, brushing her hair absently with her fingers. “Your social life is practically nonexistent.”

Alfred huffed. “That’s not true! I’ve got-”

Laline cut him off. “Lord Bonnefoy? Please, Jones. You haven’t spoken to him in over a week. Face it. You have nobody.”

“You’re wrong. I have lots of friends. Go and ask Ashai- he’ll tell you.”

“Ashai? From the kitchens?” Laline’s smile widened. “This is absolutely precious. You think Ashai’s your friend?”

“Of course I- fuck!” Alfred swore. He looked down at the beautician who was smiling at him innocently, having started his second leg without his noticing.

Laline clicked her tongue. “Baby. Either way, are you willing to bet on it?”

Alfred hesitated for a split moment before nodding. “I am. I know who my friends are.”

“Or so you think,” Laline hummed. “I’d go and ask him myself, if I were you.” She stood up and smiled at the beautician before turning around and heading out of the doorway.

“Wait!” Alfred called after her, brow furrowed. “What about our bet?”

She paused.

“I don’t collect from people I pity, Jones.”

Alfred frowned at her retreating form. Why on earth would Laline pity him? There was nothing to pity. He was one of Francis’s favorite concubines: the only thing the woman should be doing was envy him.

Oh, he would prove her wrong.

 

.x.

 

This was not the first time Alfred had invited Ashai to his quarters. He had been granted permission to host him for an afternoon while he had been under Arthur’s supervision and the awkwardness had been practically tangible. The last time he had seen his friend, however, the man had been understanding and caring, all formalities tossed aside for the sake of their friendship. He shouldn’t be nervous about seeing him again.

No- he was excited to see him. That’s what the sweaty hands and dry mouth meant. There was nothing tense at all about the smile he aimed at the other man when the latter pushed through the curtains and bowed his head in his direction.

“You summoned me, sir?”

Alfred shook his head. “No no no, I didn’t ‘summon’ you, Ashai. I invited you! Here, please take a seat,” he waved at one of the cushions and waited for his friend to sit down before adding, “and don’t call me ‘sir’. I’m just Alfred.”

Ashai raised his brows and said nothing. A few moments passed with the awkward silence Alfred had dreaded before he cleared his throat.

“So, how have you been?” he asked conversationally, leaning forwards in his seat.

Ashai shrugged. “Same old. Nothing changes much in the kitchen quarters- not that you’d know,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “My life is honestly boring compared to all of the trouble you seem to attract.”

“I swear it isn’t intentional,” Alfred grinned, the tension leaving his shoulders. “It just kind of... happens.”

“Of course it does.”

Alfred shifted uncomfortably in his seat. There was something hostile in Ashai’s tone that was rather unsettling. Perhaps he had caught the other in a bad mood.

“Ashai, listen,” he started, deciding to get right to the point rather than give the other man any more opportunities to vent his frustration, “there’s actually a reason why I wanted to see you. Not that I need one, of course,” he added quickly. “There’s just something I need to ask you.”

Ashai nodded. “Alright. What is it?”

Alfred paused. “I know this might sound a little strange, but... it’s silly, really. I was just talking to someone and they said that you... that we’re not actually friends. Which is stupid.”

“Who told you that?” Ashai frowned.

That wasn’t what Alfred had been expecting to hear.

“Laline did. Does it matter?” he countered, raising his brows. “The point is, they’re wrong. We’re still friends...right?”

Ashai shifted uncomfortably.

“Alfred...” he started, and cut himself off. His face hardened in a way Alfred had never seen before. “Why would you ever think that we’re friends?”

Alfred’s throat tightened painfully. “Why would you say that? Of course we’re friends!”

“No, we’re not,” Ashai said bluntly, meeting his gaze. “Not for a very long time.”

“What happened?” Alfred cried, pushing down the lump forming in his throat.

“You happened, Alfred. You were a good enough person when you first came here, but ever since Kirkland started seeking you out, you’ve become intolerable!” Ashai hissed, any trace of the smile he had worn before gone.

“You’re so full of yourself, so sure that you’re special when you’ve got nothing to show for yourself aside from your body. Face it, Alfred- you’re a fucking slut. If you were ugly, you’d have absolutely nothing.”

Alfred’s hands shook as he leaned forward and pushed Ashai away from him. “Get the fuck out of here,” he demanded, heat staining his cheeks. “I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“You see? You put on such airs, as if you’re actually better than me,” Ashai’s bark of laughter had a bitter edge to it. “Don’t worry. I hope I’ll never have to see you again, either.”

“You’re just jealous!” Alfred snapped. “You’re jealous that I get to rest all day while you have to work in the kitchen. You’re jealous that I was chosen for a life of luxury, and not you.”

Ashai simply shook his head. “Don’t flatter yourself, Jones. You’re just a fancy prostitute, that’s all. I wouldn’t ever want to trade what I have for a life like that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alfred waved his hand dismissively. “I have lord Bonnefoy’s ear, so if I were you, I’d be careful with how you address me from now on.”

Ashai’s laughter rang in his ears. “Not only are you a sex slave, but you’re also delusional. This is priceless,” he shook his head with what Alfred thought was a strange mixture of amusement and pity.

“You have no more influence than I have. You’re out of favor, haven’t you heard?”

Alfred pursed his lips. “Nonsense. Lord Bonnefoy adores me. Just you wait until I speak to him. You’ll be sorry.”

“Sure I will,” Ashai rolled his eyes and turned to leave. “Good luck with that, Jones. Oh, and by the way,” his eyes grew dark, “don’t expect me to answer your summons again. Goodbye, Alfred.”

And he was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note you might want to keep in mind- as you can see, I have changed the question mark of how many chapters there are to this story in total to sixteen. Yes, that's right. There is a planned ending, and we're growing close. The sixteenth chapter is actually an epilogue, so there are three chapters to go. I hope you'll all stick with it until the end :')
> 
> Again, comments are very much appreciated! I'd love to hear what you think will happen, and in general your thoughts about the progression of the plot uwu


	14. Moonlight Shadow

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

Alfred’s pulse rang in his ears as he entered the room. The words had been released in a thoughtless burst of desperation and exhilaration which had been building up on his way to lord Bonnefoy’s quarters and the moment they passed his lips, he wished he could take them back. They made him sound like the petulant child he had been accused of being not too long before.

Arthur had never made him feel this way. Arthur had never ignored him for days on end and had forced him to live among competitors. There hadn’t been any competitors-

His cheeks flushed crimson. How could he compare his benefactors so selfishly? He was where he was supposed to be. Arthur had been a deviation from the grand scheme of life. Alfred had been meant for Francis all along, just like the man had whispered to him as he’d kiss his neck. There was no reason for him to miss the one who had dismissed him so easily after promising forever.

And here he was, facing his owner with stinging eyes and thoughts of another.

_I should be ashamed of myself._

Alfred bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I apologize, master. I know I have no right to stake claims on you. I-I should know my place. If you want to send me-”

A finger pressing against his lips stopped him. Alfred opened his eyes and saw a darker shade of blue staring into his own. He swallowed thickly as the crouching figure curled the rest of his hand around his chin and pulled him forward into a short and searing kiss.

“If I knew you would have thought I had abandoned you, I would have called for you sooner,” Francis said quietly as he pulled away and straightened up, guiding Alfred’s face to follow suit. “Look at you. That cute little nose of yours is all red.”

A flash of panic coursed through Alfred, leaving him stiff with dread. Were all of his efforts, sugaring his legs and plucking his brows, were to have gone to waste over a flushed nose? Was he going to be sent back to his room to wait his turn for another month?

Alfred couldn’t even blame Francis. Who wanted to bed an emotional wreck who unrightfully demanded commitment?

Francis regarded him closely with what was becoming an amused smile. “Good lord, Alfred, have you ever been told you have a terrible habit of over thinking? Relax, darling. I’m not going to throw you out over your nose.”

No. Alfred had never been told that he had ever thought too much about, well... anything. It was always the opposite. He’d been accused of jumping into situations and taking action without giving them enough thought.

He frowned, immediately disliking the unsettling feeling which followed. When had such a fundamental part of him changed? Was this part of adulthood? Or was he changing into someone he couldn’t recognize anymore?

A pair of arms circled his waist and pulled him close in a tight embrace. Alfred swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, wrapping his own arms over the other man’s shoulders and burying his face in the crook of Francis’s neck. He had craved this- during his time in the Bonnefoy estate, he had become a glutton for the physical.

All Alfred needed was a simple gesture of intimacy to soothe him. When he was touched, he was needed. When he was surrounded by warmth and could feel damp puffs of air on his heated skin as he was slowly filled, he was safe.

Francis was murmuring in a dialect Alfred couldn’t make out, but that hardly mattered when the unintelligible, reassuring sounds were accompanied by wandering hands rubbing the back of his neck and working up and down his back. Alfred focused on evening out his breathing as Francis’s murmurings were replaced by chaste pecks on the sensitive skin behind his ear.

A few steps later, Alfred found himself straddling Francis’s lap, arms wound tight around the man’s neck and Francis’s hands on his hips in a firm hold. His lips found their way to Alfred’s mouth and met sweetly, deepening in a leisurely pace. There was no reason to rush things. They had all night, after all.

Alfred’s vision was a little hazy when he pulled back for a gulp of fresh air, but he thought he saw something akin to guilt flash in Francis’s eyes. The moment passed, however, and he was swiftly pulled back against the other’s lips. The hands on his hips dug into the fabric and Alfred ground down in response, gasping as he felt something hard prod his thigh. His gasp was met with a low groan and a sharp nip on his lower lip, quickly soothed by Francis’s tongue in apology.

In truth, Alfred didn’t mind the bite, but Francis had always been so careful and gentle with him that he didn’t have the heart to point it out. If his master enjoyed the illusion of a broken china doll he had to treat with utmost care, then so be it. In the end of the day, Alfred was there for Francis’s pleasure alone.

The hands on his hips delved down to his backside, groping the supple skin as Alfred dug his nails into the back of Francis’s tunic. Fingers traced the seamline between his cheeks and Alfred keened, grinding down into those hands.

“Please,” he breathed against Francis’s ear, dragging his tongue over the shell before sucking the lobe just the way he knew the other liked it.

Francis didn’t need him to elaborate. Grunting with the effort, he lowered his hands to the back of Alfred’s thighs and carried his weight as he stood up from the chair, beelining to the canopy bed Alfred never grew tired of. Not one to remain idle, Alfred crashed their lips together and dug his fingers into the other’s long, wavy hair, pulling them as close as possible.

Force of gravity broke the kiss as he was dropped on his back on top of the mattress. Alfred watched with lidded eyes as Francis crawled over him and yanked down his silk pants, immediately taking him in his hand as he peppered the column of his neck with kisses.

Once the oil was applied and Alfred was properly stretched, Francis positioned himself and slid into the tight heat, one hand keeping Alfred’s knee in place over his shoulder while the other applied pressure on his hipbone. Alfred felt himself being filled to the core.

A sense of calm settled over Alfred amidst the heat and his hand reached down to Francis’s wrist, grabbing his attention. Their eyes met and Alfred smiled shyly.

“Don’t move just yet. Please.”

Francis raised his brows but complied, waiting a minute before he pulled out and snapped his hips forwards, creating a rhythm that was a little too fast to be strictly comfortable, but very much satisfying.

They basked in the afterglow a while later, holding each other close in a way Alfred had experienced many times before with Arthur. Francis had pulled his back to his chest and curled around him, resting his chin on the crown of Alfred’s head and arms draped lazily over his waist.

Alfred tried not to think about it too much.

No, there was something far more important than the gorgeous man who had abandoned him.

“Did you find Matthew yet?”

The hand tracing shaped on his skin stopped. Alfred could feel the body behind him stiffen and a sense of dread fell over him like a dark cloud, robbing him of the warmth he had been feeling only seconds before.

He never got to voice his apprehension, however. Francis’s voice left little room for contradiction.

“I have men working on it, Alfred. I promise. Don’t you trust me?”

Alfred felt very small as he nodded his head. He heard a sigh from behind and the hands on his body pulled back.

“Turn around.”

He complied, if not apprehensively, turning to his side to face the other man. Francis’s blue eyes were serious as he regarded him silently.

“Alfred...” Francis sighed and closed his eyes briefly before meeting Alfred’s gaze. “I hope you will not take this the wrong way. When I called for you tonight, my intention was to speak with you, not to bed you. As you can see,” he gestured to their naked bodies, “things didn’t go as planned.”

Alfred’s breath caught in his throat. Francis hadn’t wanted to sleep with him? What had he wanted to tell him, then? Was he-

His stomach churned. Was he being sent back to the kitchens?

Had he crossed a line? Was it because of Matthew? Had Laline spoken to Francis? What had he-

“Alfred!” Francis snapped, looking tired. “You’re doing it again. Please, hear me out before jumping to conclusions.”

Cowed by his master’s tone, Alfred lowered his eyes and nodded meekly, biting his lip hard. A had curled around his cheek and forced him to raise his gaze to meet Francis’s. To his surprise, the look the man gave him was soft.

“It has become clear to me, especially after this evening, that this lifestyle does not suit you. You were not brought up to be a harem concubine, Alfred, and it is taking a toll on your health. You cannot blossom unless you are the center of attention, and I cannot offer you that.”

Alfred exhaled shakily. None of his masters had ever put his needs before their own. Or what they thought were his needs. The last thing Alfred wanted was to be sent away or sold, even with the best of intentions. He opened his mouth to say so, but was cut off.

“Consequently, my overseer has not been functioning as he used to these past few months. In any other situation I would have replaced him, but...” Francis trailed off before clearing his throat and continuing.

“I know Arthur yearns for you, and I can tell that you still care for him. Don’t deny it!” he smiled sadly, watching Alfred’s cheeks color. “I have many concubines, Alfred, and while I enjoy my time with you, I have only one overseer. When I took you in, I thought I was helping you while teaching him a lesson. I cannot help but feel like I came between you two instead.

That is why I have decided to return you to Arthur. He needs you, and can give you what I cannot. I hope you can understand.”

Alfred stared at Francis blankly before turning away, his mind finally allowed to run rampant.

Francis had tried to sugarcoat it (as was in his nature, Alfred supposed), but the fact was that Francis valued his overseer far more than he cared for Alfred, and was willing to give him up in order to have a smoothly ran household.

His mind was telling him that he should be offended, but all he could think about was a pair of vibrant green eyes boring into his own as they made love. A deep laugh reverberating through the room whenever Alfred made a witty remark.

Hell, just the fact that Arthur wasn’t performing because of him was enough. He missed him. He cared.

“...Alfred?” a tentative voice penetrated his thoughts and Alfred rolled back to face Francis, who was looking at him with a worried frown. The lines marking his face had never been as visible as they were at that moment, but Alfred didn’t care. He surged forward and pressed his lips to Francis’s in a quick kiss.

“Thank you,” he said when he pulled back, biting back a smile at the other’s confused face. “For everything.”

It took only a few moments for Francis to collect himself, offering Alfred a kind smile and a warm body to press against as he drifted off to sleep in his master’s arms.

The smiles remained all through breakfast, which they ate in bed as a special treat. Francis offered him a bit of his baklava, but Alfred shook his head and focused on his own portion.

He had a feeling there would be plenty of sweets later that night, in Arthur’s rooms.

 

.x.

 

Whispering surrounded Alfred wherever he went throughout the day. While this was not uncommon in the harems, there was a grave quality to them that Alfred had never heard before. After a concerned look in his direction, Alfred frowned and retreated to his own room, refusing to get caught up in a whirlwind of gossip. This was supposed to be a good day, and he wasn’t about to let a group of concubines ruin it for him.

Instead, Alfred busied himself with going through his wardrobe, wondering which outfits he should take with him once the guards came to escort him to Arthur’s quarters. Had Arthur kept his old clothing?

It was likely that the man had tossed them in a fit of anger, but Alfred entertained thoughts of the man keeping a few of his garments and bringing them close to his face every now and then and inhaling deeply, trying to remember his scent. At least, that’s what Alfred would have done had he had anything of Arthur’s.

Would Arthur want to buy him a whole new wardrobe? On the one hand, being in charge of the household’s finances, Arthur was likely to want to conserve their funds, especially if it was a difficult year. He could be cheap like that. On the other hand, Arthur may not want Alfred to wear anything he had worn for Francis. That sounded like him too.

Oh! He couldn’t wait to see him!

He was in the middle of stuffing a satin belt into a bag when the curtains at the entrance of his room parted and a man in uniform entered. His gaze was stern.

“Alfred Jones?”

Alfred turned around and smiled at the man, oblivious to his demeanor. In his experience, all of the guards he had encountered hadn’t been very friendly. “Yes?”

“I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

Alfred turned back to his bag with an air of dismissal. “I know you’re only doing your job, but could you come back later? I’m not packed yet.”

A hand grasped his forearm and turned him around forcefully.

“You’re coming with me. Now.”

Startled, Alfred allowed himself to be escorted out of the harem by a group of guards, his blood pounding in his ears at the looks he was being cast by passerby. Dread began to fill him as he was led down stairs to a small room.

He wasn’t going to Arthur.

A sense of deja vu washed over him. The guards, the tense expressions on the people surrounding him- this was just like when he had been accused of trying to poison Laline. Was he being accused again?

What could he have possibly done?

The guards sat him in front of a wooden desk. A man was sitting on the other side, wearing the same uniform as the other guards did. By the way they saluted him and how he dismissed them with a wave of a hand, Alfred figured he must be in charge.

“You’re Alfred Jones, correct?”

The man’s words were clipped and businesslike, but Alfred could hear the threat behind them. His eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I am. Why am I here?”

The man gave him a sharp look. “I am the one who will be asking the questions, slave. Where were you this morning?”

Alfred’s cheeks burned, but his voice was steady. “I was in lord Bonnefoy’s chambers and then left for the harem.”

“While you were with lord Bonnefoy, did you notice anything strange about him?”

Alfred’s heart skipped a beat.

“No. Is there something wrong with him?” he asked anxiously, brows knitted in concern. “Is he alright?”

“Lord Bonnefoy passed away,” the man said stiffly, watching Alfred’s face closely. “He did not leave his rooms this morning, and when a slave went to investigate, his body was found on the floor.”’

Alfred’s vision swam as his face lost all coloring.

Francis, dead? The man who had held him the night before, made love to him, dead?

“But he was just fine when I left him!” Alfred protested, digging his nails into his palm. “How could this happen?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” the man looked away for a moment before clearing his throat. “Without any signs of aggression, we’re interrogating everyone he was involved with for the past twenty four hours. Until the doctors can rule out poisoning, I’m going to have to ask you not to leave your room.”

Alfred nodded and stood up, recognizing his dismissal. The guard’s voice reached him before he could leave the room.

“I would be careful if I were you, what with your track record. There may not be someone willing to cover up for you this time.”

The words followed him up to his room where the guards deposited him. The half packed bag looked out of place and Alfred pushed it off of his bed in a burst of aggression.

How could he have been worrying about clothing while his master had been lying dead on the floor?

 

.x.

  


Alfred wasn’t called back for interrogation, much to his relief. The doctors who had examined Francis’s body concluded that his death had been a natural one. In his advanced age, hearts tended to fail when one least expected them to. Tragic, of course, but no foul play was involved.

The air of suspicion and tension evaporated, leaving in its wake a dark cloud of mourning. The whole household was issued new tunics, white and plain to signify the passing of their master. No vibrant colors, no jewelry, no music and no feasts. Silence was only broken by low tones and prayers. Everyone kept to themselves for one month following lord Bonnefoy’s death.

At least, that was what was supposed to have happened. The household followed most of the traditional mourning directions, but nothing could stop people from talking. There were no elaborate food, but that did not compel anyone to keep their conversation as plain as their fare. On the contrary- the lack of distraction, be it pretty clothes or late night partying, only encouraged people to entertain themselves with each other.

Alfred had never heard the harem so talkative.

The one topic everyone kept returning to was the question of succession. While lord Bonnefoy slept with many women, he had never taken an official wife. Any concubine whom he had impregnated despite the herbs they were told to take was married off.

With no son, it was hard to guess who would inherit. All the concubines could do was hope that their next master would find them attractive and not tainted by their previous owner.

Alfred was no exception. Seeing as Arthur had yet to claim him, it was apparent that Francis had not told anyone aside from Alfred about his decision before he died. For all anyone knew, he still belonged solely to Francis. To the next lord of the estate. Nothing he said could change that.

After all, he was just a slave.

So Alfred, no longer confined to his room, joined the harem in their suspense and whisperings, waiting with them for the last day of the month of mourning when Francis’s will was to be revealed to all. As a man who had continually rejected his unborn children, Francis must have had a successor in mind.

 

.x.

 

It was late at night when they came for him.

“Sir!”

Alfred opened his eyes and sat up in bed, looking at the servant who had entered his room. He groaned softly and ran a hand through his hair as he frowned at him in annoyance.

“It’s the middle of the goddamn night! What do you want?”

It was only when the boy smiled brightly at him that Alfred realized that he was wearing a rich shade of red.

His eyes widened as he scrambled out of bed, pulling on a robe over his sleepwear. “Who is it? Who has been named?”

The boy simply shook his head with a secretive smile. “I was told not to tell you, sir. Now, if you will please follow me...?”

Alfred rushed to follow the boy who had already pushed past the curtains. “Where are we going?” he asked, adrenaline leaving him wide awake.

“To the master’s quarters, of course,” the boy hummed, something gold shining through his fingers in the firelight.

That explained his good mood. The new master must be generous, then.

But what did he want with Alfred? He had never even met the man!

Alfred followed the boy until they turned a corner and stopped in front of a pair of unfamiliar doors. Two guards stood in front of them and after a cursory glance at Alfred looked away in disinterest. They must have been expecting him.

Hesitating at the door, Alfred looked back at the boy for reassurance, but the latter had already disappeared. He wasn’t sure what to think of that.

With a deep breath he opened the door, entering a vast and richly decorated room. With no one in sight, Alfred slowly made his way around, inspecting his surroundings. These rooms were nothing like Francis’s.

At last, Alfred stood at the entrance to the last room he had yet to set foot in. Cautiously he stepped past the fabric and blinked at the dim light, searching for the man who had summoned him, his knees ready to bend once he found him.

“Hello, Alfred.”

Alfred froze. Slowly, his body turned halfway towards the all too familiar voice.

A figure sat on a large bed, settled against a pile of colorful throw pillows. His legs were crossed and his torso was exposed, revealing creamy white skin which had rarely been exposed to sunlight. The loose pants he wore looked soft to touch, but Alfred’s focus was entirely on the man’s face.

Striking green eyes reflected the golden flames burning in the fireplace, beckoning him. His lips were curved in what could only be a smug smile.

Without realizing, Alfred had approached the man and had fallen to his knees in front of him. Looking up at his new master, Alfred gently cradled the man’s foot in his palm and brought it close to his face, pressing his lips in a reverent kiss against the soft skin. He trembled as a hand reached out to him and cupped his cheek.

Alfred exhaled shakily.

“Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this is not the end, I can assure you ;) I wouldn't finish this story so easily, haha. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and I hope you'll stay tuned <3
> 
> If you'd like to follow me or have any questions you'd like to ask, my tumblr is hannaadi88 (shocker, isn't it).


	15. Flames to Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains off screen non-con. Please continue at your own discretion.

The voice droned on.

“...and, as your lordship must be aware of, prices have gone down for oranges this season. This puts your estate...”

Bits and pieces of Arthur’s new accountant floated through Alfred’s mind, entering his head from one ear and not making much of an impression before they left through the other one. All he could focus on was the warm flesh he was seated on; Arthur’s thighs were firm beneath him. His hands left a burning mark wherever they touched Alfred. Currently, one hand was supporting his back while the other was perched idly on his lap. They were all he could think about.

It was wonderful when Arthur spoke- his voice was just as rich as Alfred remembered it, authoritative and silky in all of his dealings. Especially in bed. Alfred was doubly rewarded with his head tucked protectively under Arthur’s chin. He could feel the delightful vibrations of Arthur’s voice against his cheek whenever the man chose to speak.

It was all Alfred could do to contain himself. In fact, it was getting a little ridiculous. He had been a bundle of hypersensitive nerves ever since he had fallen to his feet in front of his master two weeks before. After months of separation it felt like they couldn’t have enough of each other. Every little touch sparked a fire that had never been so easily lit before, and if Alfred were honest with himself, it was overwhelming.

Not overwhelming enough to deter him from rediscovering Arthur’s body, of course. As if he had any choice in the matter. Regardless, Alfred had never been more content nor felt as loved as he did in those long nights entangled in Arthur’s arms and legs.

What thrilled Alfred the most, however, was the fact that he was no longer reserved for nights only.

While Arthur had worked as an overseer, his days had been full of meetings, bills and inspections. Alfred had been his companion when the sun had finally set and shrouded the rooms in darkness. He remembered those idle days lazing about in the gardens or sitting inside reading what Arthur had supplied for him, waiting for the day to end so that Arthur would return to their rooms and love him.

Francis had been the same, but for different reasons. The lord of the estate had the luxury of basking in his female companionship in the daylight, of having them accompany and follow him around all day long. Alfred had only been summoned at night, where no visiting dignitary could see him hanging on the arms of his master. Male concubines were uncommon enough to raise questions, and who wanted to trade with a man of questionable tastes? With plenty of pretty faces to surround himself with without question, there was no need for the master to put himself in a difficult position.

Now that Arthur had the luxury, Alfred was frequently draped over his legs in public. Having time to himself was becoming a rare occurrence, and Alfred thrived on it. No more long, tedious days of lounging aimlessly in the harem, waiting to be escorted to the master's rooms. He was with Arthur throughout the day, learning far more about his surroundings in those short weeks than he had known in over a year in the household.

There was almost no room in the entire mansion that had not been touched by their love making.

It was difficult to concentrate on the new information he was supposed to be taking in, though, when Arthur was so close. The way he was drumming his fingers on the top of Alfred's thighs was maddening. He must know what he was doing. Arthur never moved an inch without calculating it beforehand.

Alfred shifted in Arthur's lap, his arms tightening around the man's neck as he tried to make himself more comfortable (and get away from those wicked fingers). His fidgeting came to a stop when a warm hand pried his legs apart just enough to cup him in a firm hold. Alfred's body froze and he raised his eyes quickly to search Arthur's face, but his view was partial from beneath the other's chin. All he could tell what that Arthur was still looking intently at the man on the other side of the table, nodding away at the figures thrown into the air.

His breath caught as the hand started to massage him through the flimsy fabric of his trousers, deftly hidden from view by the flowing tablecloth. Alfred could feel the blood rushing to his face.

He had never been publicly molested before.

A kiss here, a grope there- nothing unseemingly in front of the eyes of others.  That had always been their rule. Until now, Alfred supposed. He wasn't the one making the rules either way. Whatever Arthur chose to do to him, all Alfred could do was endure and perhaps berate him later, in private.

This was asking more than endurance, however. Arthur was demanding his silence and calm exterior, neither of which Alfred had much control over. Arthur was well aware of that. Was his master trying to humiliate him?

Alfred dug his nails into the soft skin of Arthur's neck but if it caused the man any pain, he didn't show it. Instead, the hand between his legs shot upwards and delved beneath the waistband, gripping Alfred's naked flesh. Alfred closed his eyes and hid his face away against Arthur's throat, muffling his cry.

The hand rewarded him with a long and tantalizing stroke. Alfred shuddered.

"I, er… I have to get back to work, my lord. There are reports to fill out."

Alfred sneaked a peek at the accountant. The man was looking away pointedly, his face ablaze in a hot red blush. Arthur's chuckle vibrated against Alfred's cheek.

"You're dismissed, Ne'eman. Make sure those reports are on my desk by tomorrow morning."

Ne'eman couldn't get out of the room fast enough. The moment he ducked out of view with one last bow, Alfred disentangled his arms from around Arthur's neck and pulled away so that he could scowl at the other man properly.

"What was that all about?"

The grip on his cock tightened, eliciting a shuddering gasp.

"I simply couldn't help myself," Arthur confided in his ear, dragging his tongue across the flushed skin. "You're terribly distracting. All I could think about was having my way with you right on this table."

Alfred huffed indignantly. "If I'm so distracting, maybe you shouldn't bring me to these boring meetings of yours. People already think I spend my day with my legs permanently spread open. I don't need you reinforcing the idea in front of their eyes!"

Arthur's hand was moving at a steady place, squeezing and pumping just the way Alfred liked it. "But it's true," Arthur smirked, using his other hand to cradle the back of Alfred's neck. "Your legs are always spread for my pleasure. There is no shame in pleasing your master, Alfred."

Alfred felt a surge of heat at Arthur's words. He tipped his head back and crushed his lips against Arthur's. It was an uncomfortable fit and he had to pull away almost as soon as he pressed against them, but it was enough to prompt Arthur to growl in dissatisfaction and yank Alfred and turn him so that his legs were wrapped around his hips and they were facing each other properly.

Their eyes met for a split moment before they both leaned in to claim the other's lips. Arthur's hand was still in Alfred's pants while its twin supported the small of Alfred's back. Alfred clung desperately to Arthur's shoulders, grinding his hips down against the other's erection in an attempt to relieve the pressure building up in the pit of his stomach.

Arthur would have none of it. His pace was tortuously slow. Alfred whined into their kiss as Arthur pulled back with a breathless chuckle. His thumb circled Alfred's tip as he pressed a kiss to the top of Alfred's nose.

"Not so quick, love. You're going to have to work for it."

Alfred tilted his head in a silent query. There were many ways one might earn release in Arthur's hands. His answer came in a pointed look followed by the sensation of the legs supporting him parting beneath him.

_Oh._

Cautiously, Alfred pushed back from Arthur and, pushing at his chest, unstraddled him. He stood unsteadily on his feet for a few moments before he lowered himself to his knees, squeezing his way in between Arthur's thighs.

Just as he had felt when he had been pressing down on Arthur's lap, his master was already hard. Alfred deftly lifted the hem of Arthur's tunic and yanked down his trousers as far as they would go, releasing the familiar appendage he had learned to associate with pleasure. Without waiting to be told, he wrapped his hand around Arthur's girth and lowered his mouth around the head, slowly inching his way down the engorged flesh until his nose brushed the coarse blond hair at the base.

Arthur exhaled delicately and leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs wider in accommodation. His hands found their way into Alfred's hair, just as they usually did, and tugged on the soft strands as he hummed his appreciation.

Alfred had long since trained his gag reflex in order to facilitate what was becoming more or less a daily practice. Arthur couldn't start his morning without a good suck. He didn't pause to think too deeply about the fact that the skills he had gained ever since being sold all had to do with the bedroom.

He had pitied himself in the past for not having been selected for Francis's harem. It would be hypocritical of him to grieve over having what he had wanted so badly before. His fate was to love and be loved.

If it meant being with Arthur forever, Alfred regretted none of it.

Alfred began to bob his head, circling the base of Arthur's cock in his hand to hold it in place while his other hand sneaked discreetly between his own legs and held his length tightly in his grip. He tried to synchronize his movements so that nothing would look off, but Arthur's (previously closed) sharp eyes caught a flash of tanned skin between Alfred's legs.

Roughly, Arthur shoved Alfred away, causing Alfred to briefly scratch his teeth over the tip of Arthur's cock. Arthur cried out in pain in time with Alfred, who had hit the back of his head against one of the table's legs.

They looked at each other accusingly for a long moment before Arthur grabbed Alfred's wrist and yanked it away from his erection.

"What is this?" he hissed.

Alfred swallowed thickly and averted his gaze. Another one of their unspoken rules was that he was not allowed to touch himself unless explicitly granted permission to do so. Alfred hadn't thought Arthur would react so violently, however. He fought his instincts which called out to him to show remorse and submit- anything so as not to be on the receiving end of Arthur's dangerous glare.

He didn't submit. Yet he wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, Alfred," Arthur snapped, letting go of Alfred's wrist in favor of digging his fingers into his hair and yanking his face upwards to meet his gaze. Alfred bit his tongue at the pain but refused to make a sound.

 _Something_ about this whole new dynamic made his cock throb.

Arthur's quick eyes didn't miss the darkening of his blue eyes in arousal, nor the way the tips of Alfred's ears flushed red. His anger dissipated into smug satisfaction.

"You're getting off on this, aren't you?" he murmured, tightening his grip in Alfred's hair. "You like being punished. Don’t you?"

Alfred whimpered in response. There was no point trying to deny it- Arthur had already latched onto it. It was a startling discovery for Alfred as well. He had never before been in a situation where he had been touched out of anger. It had always been gentle caresses and soothing words. True, he had been fucked roughly far too many times to count, but those had never harbored any real aggression in them.

The _danger_ that had glimmered in Arthur's green eyes had truly excited him.

If they were to have a wrestling match, Alfred was pretty sure he would come out with the upper hand. It was no secret that he was larger than Arthur. Yet that was exactly what made the idea of being physically forced to submit by him all that more appealing. Power, in all of its forms, was attractive.

Alfred wondered how far Arthur would go.

He didn't have to wonder for long. Arthur's fingers were still tugging at his hair when he meshed their lips together in a violent kiss, punctuated by clashing teeth and sharp nips. Alfred thought he tasted blood at some point and his head was growing fuzzy from the lack of air, but pleasure lined his experience.

Arthur's foot found itself between Alfred's legs and pressed hard up against his length. Crying in pain, Alfred turned his head away from the kiss with the beginning of what would be tears in his eyes, but soon enough those tears faded away in the heat of his embarrassed arousal. The force applied against his cock was just as pleasurable as it was painful.

A heady contradiction if any.

"Alfred…" Arthur's mouth travelled down his jaw to lavish the column of his neck, biting at the supple skin which hadn't had time to recover from its latest marks. "My Alfred. All _mine._ "

His last words were followed by a particularly sharp nip, causing Alfred to gasp and half- heartedly raise his free hand to Arthur's chest in an attempt to push him away. His hand was ignored and if anything, Arthur saw it as an invitation to press closer.

"No one else will ever touch you, ever again," Arthur murmured, tilting his head and pressing his forehead against Alfred's. Their eyes met.

"I finally have the power to keep you by my side. Forever."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, but Alfred would never forget how _protected_ he felt supported in Arthur's arms.

This was it. This was the real thing. Someone up there had decided that he deserved a happy ending.

 

.x.

 

It took reality a few more weeks to catch up with them. Eventually, work began to pile on Arthur's desk and the stress of representing as well as managing an entire household was taking its toll. Alfred found himself spending more and more time by himself.

He didn't mind it as much as he thought he would. If he was in the mood, Arthur would at times talk about his day's work while Alfred massaged his shoulders in the hamam. From the sound of it, he wasn't missing much. His main purpose was to be a distraction from reality's hardships and as Arthur needed this time to settle and prove his worth, Alfred was called for less and less.

The distance made their weekly encounters all the more meaningful. All the more passionate. Alfred liked that, not to mention the bodily reprieve. He spent less time in bed recuperating from rigorous lovemaking and thus was able to walk around the grounds, discovering alcoves and charming overlooked corners. It was easier to take a scroll and read it in peace in a small back room than in one of the bedrooms where the servants would come in and check on him every so often.

Alfred's favorite discovery, however, was his freedom in the gardens. He had not been allowed outside ever since Francis had found him dehydrated under a tree. Alfred had missed the fresh air and the sweet scent of exotic flowers he had taken a liking to. Even in the past, when Arthur had granted him the occasional walk in the garden, he had always been followed around by a guard.

No one kept tabs on him now. Alfred could roam around freely, at last. He wondered for a bit why Arthur didn't object to his unmonitored wanderings. It was rather unlike him to be unconcerned about Alfred's whereabouts. Alfred thought Arthur might still be concerned about the possibility of him escaping, but it never came up.

Alfred liked to think that Arthur finally trusted him enough to be on his own.

Regardless of the reasoning, Alfred intended on enjoying himself thoroughly. After being forced to live in close quarters with Francis's concubines and the intense weeks after Arthur's inheritance, it was nice to sit in solitude beneath the blue sky with a platter of sweets every now and then.

It was on one such occasion that Alfred's peaceful nap was disturbed by a pair of voices. Opening his eyes, Alfred sat up and looked around him, trying to discern the direction of those familiar voices. Not many people frequented the gardens.

Alfred followed the laughter to a secluded area surrounded by tall bushes. He crouched down behind the nearest one and listened intently, disregarding the dirt on his new trousers. There was something off about the sound of those two voices together. Like they didn't belong.

"No, really, I swear by it! I wouldn't lie to you, Laline!"

Alfred's eyes widened. That was unmistakably Ashai's voice! What on earth was he doing with Laline?

"…I know you wouldn't. It's just hard to believe. Are you sure that's what he said?"

"Yes. Kirkland promised me that if I helped him, he would grant us our freedom. It's as simple as that. Laline…" There was a sound of fabric rustling. "You mean everything to me. I would do anything for you. I love you."

"I-I love you too. You know that. But what could you have helped him with that was significant enough to set us free? It's going to cost him a lot of money to replace us."

There was a short pause.

"Nothing I haven't done before," Ashai said softly. "Nothing you haven't asked me to do."

Laline inhaled sharply. "That's not possible. And I never intended on someone to actually _eat_ it. That's different."

"Regardless of intent, my part was the same. I was asked to prepare a meal. I simply added what Kirkland gave me."

There was a small sob. Was Laline crying?

"You killed him! How could you?"

"It was all for you!" Ashai's voice was desperate. "We could never be together while Bonnefoy was alive! You belonged to him! Kirkland promised me our freedom if I were to help him, and if anything, that bastard keeps his word. He just signed our papers!"

Alfred had heard enough. Blood pounding in his ears, he crawled away out of earshot. Once he was far enough not to be heard, he stood up and broke into a run.

Ashai was lying. There was no way Arthur would ask him to poison Francis! It simply wasn't possible! Arthur was ruthless, sure. He always had to have things his way. But he had respect for position. Francis was his benefactor. Surely he wouldn't stoop to murder…?

And yet…

There was no reason for Ashai to lie to Laline. It still baffled Alfred how the two knew each other and how they had developed an illicit affair, but it explained at least why his friend had gone against him. He _had_ a reason to want Francis gone, though Alfred didn't think he was cunning enough to operate on his own. He needed brains to his brawn.

Arthur must have sensed that.

Alfred came to a stop, panting and sweating from the sudden exertion. His heart was beating violently in his chest.

He was going to have to confront him.

 

.x.

 

Alfred sat on the king sized bed, waiting nervously for Arthur to arrive. He had been bathed and dressed by his personal servant in a new outfit Arthur had ordered for him to wear that night. It was a flimsy pair of silk trousers and vest, but Alfred didn't care about how exposed he felt. There were more important things on his mind.

Footsteps sounded before the door opened, revealing Arthur in his handsome robes. Now that he owned the money he handled, he had taken to purchasing for himself nicer clothing. Alfred usually appreciated the sight of his master in his new clothes, but he couldn't concentrate on anything but his face.

Was this face, open and happy to see him, the face of a murderer?

"Alfred," Arthur murmured. He approached him with a warm smile, cupping his chin in his palm and leaning down to kiss him. Alfred obliged stiffly and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the heat pooling in his stomach. He didn't need any distractions.

Arthur didn't seem to notice his reluctance. His hands settled on Alfred's shoulders , pushing him onto his back as he deepened the kiss. Alfred raised his arms automatically to dig his fingers in Arthur's hair for purchase before he could catch himself. Once he realized what he was doing, he dropped his arms to his side and turned his head away from Arthur's mouth, feeling the soft pressure of his lips on his cheek instead.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked as he pulled away, still securely straddling Alfred's hips. His brows furrowed worryingly as he caressed Alfred's cheek with the back of his hand. "Is something bothering you?"

Alfred didn't think he could stomach Arthur's concern.

"How… how is it that you inherited the estate? I mean, I know Francis… trusted you… but is that enough, really, to name you his heir?"

Arthur's hand stiffened against Alfred's cheek. He looked down at him carefully and met his unflinching gaze for a long moment before sighing and climbing off of Alfred.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation," Arthur said quietly, a small smile shaping his lips. "After all, it's natural you'd want to know how I came to own you. My claim is sound, so you needn't worry. Nobody will be coming to take you away from me."

Alfred remained silent, looking at Arthur expectantly and waiting for him to continue. He refused to submit to those reassuring words, but he could feel his body softening.

Arthur continued. "Do you remember that portrait I had hanging in my old quarters? The one you were so enamored with?"

Alfred nodded. He had always wondered who the woman in the picture was.

"That is a portrait of my mother. She died a few days after delivering me- childbirth complications. Common enough," he explained in a detached voice. "She was a concubine. Francis's concubine, to be exact."

Alfred's eyes widened. "You mean that-"

"No," Arthur cut him off. "Francis is not my father."

"But…"

Arthur took a deep breath.

"Francis purchased my mother before they realized she was pregnant. My father is probably her previous owner, or perhaps another slave. He fell in love with her. They were overjoyed when it was obvious that she was with child, but she started showing too early for the baby to be Francis's, though.

He planned on marrying her once I was born, I think. They were going to give me away and start over.  What they didn't plan on was my mother's maternal love for me at the last moment. She made him swear to protect me when she realized that she was going to die. I suppose I was the only thing he had left from her, so he decided to bring me up and train me to earn my keep. In the end, I was the closest thing he had to a son. He adopted me."

Alfred frowned. "He never impregnated anyone?"

"All female concubines are ordered to use acacia gum as a contraceptive. Didn't you notice?" Arthur gave Alfred an odd look. "Of course, there have been rare cases where a concubine did indeed conceive, but they were married off to Francis's subordinates. Illegitimate children are worse than none."

They sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes while Alfred took everything in. With no legitimate heirs, Arthur was the only man Francis could name in his will. Arthur must have known that, or else he wouldn't have risked poisoning his adoptive father. Why would he kill him, though, knowing that he was next in line either way?

Alfred cleared his throat. He had to know.

"Why did you kill Francis?"

Arthur's eyes widened as he turned to fully face Alfred. "What did you say?"

Alfred wanted to take it all back. Arthur's face was calm and his voice was low, but Alfred could feel the hostility and displeasure radiated at him. This was the kind of gaze Arthur reserved for his enemies. Alfred had never wanted to be on the receiving end of that gaze.

He had already said those damning words once, though. Arthur was not going to let him get away with it either way. Alfred may as well pursue his cause.

"Why did you kill Francis?"

"I did no such thing," Arthur snapped, crowding in Alfred so that he was forced onto his back. "Where did you hear these rumors?"

Alfred was a little stung that Arthur immediately assumed that he had heard the accusation from someone else and that he hadn't thought of it himself, but he was too busy keeping Arthur's face at arm's length to dwell on it. Besides, Arthur was right. He hadn't thought of it on his own.

"I overheard Ashai and Laline talking in the gardens," Alfred said firmly, grateful that his voice wasn't wavering. "He said that you agreed to free them if he poisoned Francis. There was no reason for him to lie to her."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. The tension suspended between them suffocated Alfred, but he knew that if he displayed any sort of weakness, it would all be over. After a minute of warring gazes Arthur finally conceded with a deep sigh.

He lowered himself on top of Alfred's body and pressed his lips to his jugular, murmuring words so quietly that Alfred almost didn't catch them.

"I did it for you."

Alfred froze.

"What?"

Raising his head, Arthur met his gaze determinedly. "It was all for you. I couldn't bear the thought of Francis using you, night after night… I had to get you back."

"You killed him because of me?" Alfred repeated, horror painting his face deathly white. "You killed _Francis_ just because you wanted _me_?"

"I needed you!" Arthur cried, pinning Alfred's arms to the mattress. "It was the only way we could be together again!"

Alfred felt his stomach churning in disgust. He pushed Arthur off of him.

"You're a fucking idiot!" he dug his nails into his palm, restraining himself. "I can't believe you!"

Arthur's face clouded as he sat up and grabbed Alfred's shoulder.

"Don’t you dare speak to me like that. I thought you loved me."

Alfred shook him off. "That has nothing to do with it!" his voice shook. It was all he could do to stop himself from breaking down. "Don’t you get it? You killed for nothing! He was going to give me back to you!"

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. "What?"

"He was going to give me back to you," Alfred said. "The night before you had him poisoned, he told me that he saw how much you needed me and that he was willing to give me up for your sake."

"He was going to… give you back?" Arthur repeated dumbly.

"Yes. And you killed him."

Alfred watched in detachment as Arthur curled up at the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands, shaking with the enormity of his actions.

"You killed an innocent man. He cared about you, about me. He was so generous and kind and insightful and you just-"

"He wasn't perfect!" Arthur cut him off, glowering from his perch. "Stop talking about him as if he was some kind of saint. Maybe I shouldn't have killed him, but he doesn't deserve your praise."

Alfred frowned. "He was nicer to me than you ever were. He listened to me! He trusted me! He never sent me away like you did! He even promised to help me find Matthew!"

"Hah!" Arthur snorted, inching closer on the mattress. "You see? He wasn't as good as you thought he was! He lied to you. Matthew's dead, he was just leading you on-"

Alfred felt the blood drain from his face. He felt faint.

"…Alfred?"

Alfred snapped into focus. Arthur was holding him close, looking down at him in concern. He must have spaced out. He felt like he was about to be sick.

"Matthew's dead?"

The flash of guilt in Arthur's eyes was enough to confirm it. Alfred pushed away from Arthur's arms, his mind swirling in hysteria.

"You killed him! You killed my brother! My _brother!_ How could you- oh god, don't touch me!"

Alfred climbed off of the bed and rushed towards the door. He needed to be anywhere, _anywhere_ , as far away as he could from this monster. He wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself otherwise.

A strong hand grabbed his bicep and forced him to stop before he could escape.

"Alfred, listen to me," Arthur was pleading, "I had to do it! He was going to take you away from me! If I let him go, he would just come back and try again! I did it for us-"

The distinctive sound of cracking echoed in the room. Alfred stared with wide eyes at the blood oozing from Arthur's lips. His knuckles ached. Arthur was staring back at him, nursing his bruised jaw in his hand and looking just as shocked as he was.

Alfred's heart was racing. He couldn't believe that he had hurt Arthur. The penalty of raising a hand on a noble was death.

He was going to die.

Sure enough, he was slammed against the wall, eyes watering at the impact. His hands were restrained above his head and there was murder in Arthur's eyes.

"How dare you hit me," Arthur hissed, pressing his knee in between Alfred's legs, forcing them apart. "After all I've done for you, you repay me with violence?"

Nails dug into Alfred's wrists. He held his breath, expecting the worse.

"Perhaps I've been too lenient with you. It's time I teach you your proper place, _slave,"_ Arthur spat.

A second later had Alfred pressed face-forward against the wall, hands still restrained behind his back. He could feel Arthur tearing down the flimsy trousers he had gotten especially for him and was forced to spread his legs.

"Please don't," Alfred whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. "Please, I'm sorry-"

He cried out in pain.

There was nothing loving about Arthur's touch.


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, this is the EPILOGUE. If you have yet to read chapter fifteen, please do so before continuing.

Arthur's hand caressed his face.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, pressing his lips to the crook of Alfred's neck and inhaling deeply. "So soft."

Alfred hummed in response, tightening his legs around Arthur's waist. It felt good to have Arthur completely sheathed inside him, filling him to the brim. Reminding him where he belonged.

He cherished every gentle word, every loving touch Arthur had to spare for him. He couldn't have enough of them. Athalia wore Arthur's marks on her neck as a prize, and Alfred was determined to have as just as many before he left the room for the night. At least he had been summoned far more often that month than Nur had been. She never knew when to shut her mouth. Alfred wasn't sure how Arthur tolerated her.

Really, it had been his fault that Arthur had to resort to the other concubines in the first place. If he hadn't been so stubborn and strong willed, Arthur never would have looked at the other girls. Alfred had been unreceptive, and Arthur had to find release somewhere, right?

He had practically sent him running into their arms.

There had been no reason for him to be so sore about his punishment. Alfred had deserved every bit of it. He had spoken back and acted very selfishly that night, resulting in unprovoked violence on his part. It was a wonder, really, that Arthur hadn't sold him the very next morning.

Alfred couldn't be more grateful.

His cock ached between their bodies. Alfred wished with all his might that Arthur would reach down and help him, but he knew better than to ask. He didn't want to sound too demanding or to insinuate that he wasn't satisfied.

Because that would be a lie. He was very much satisfied. He had a home, enough food to eat and all the luxuries one could ask for. Most importantly, he had a master who loved him, and whom he loved more than anything else in the world.

Oh, yes. Someone up there had decided that he deserved a happy ending, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. First published on ffnet in December 2012, I have finally completed Sand and Silk.
> 
> It's hard to believe, isn't it?
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone who has supported me along the way with encouraging and constructive comments and of course, those who have stuck with SAS from the very beginning. It's been a long journey, but we have finally come to an end. 
> 
> As some of you have already caught on, SAS depicts the unhealthy relationship of a couple influenced by Stockholm syndrome. These two could never have a truly happy ending in this AU. I have left many things unexplained- how did Ashai and Laline meet? What was Laline's roll in pushing Alfred into Arthur's arms in the first place? There are answers, but they did not have room in these final chapters. Perhaps I'll return to this AU in the future with short oneshots explaining it all, but at this time I'll leave it to your imagination.
> 
> Once again, I want to thank all of you for your support <3 Without you, this would have remained yet another unfinished fic in the sea of fiction. This has been an amazing process for me. 
> 
> Hope to hear from you all in my future fics!
> 
> (if you'd like to follow me on tumblr, here is the link to my blog. I'd be happy to answer questions and accept prompts! 
> 
> http://hannaadi88.tumblr.com/)


	17. Artists Wanted

Hi there!

I know this extra 'chapter' must come as a surprise. This story has been finished for quite a while and to revive it like this might be a little bit cruel, but I hope this announcement will make up for the confusion :')

After thinking about it for a long time, I've decided to publish a UKUS fanbook! The fanbook will include a lengthened & edited version of Sand and Silk as well as bonus content. Extra scenes { you know the kind ;) }, character profiles and of course, what would a fanbook be without artwork?

That's where you come in. I, unfortunately, cannot draw to save my life. I'm looking for artists to commission! I already have a friend who is willing to help me out, but I want a variety of art styles to mix things up.

If you are an artist (or know someone who can draw), please don't hesitate to send me an e-mail with a link to your portfolio/blog/art! If I feel like your style would fit the story, we could work out prices, etc'. 

You can reach me at hanna.alexander88@gmail.com. 

I'm super excited about this fanbook and I really hope to find enough artists.

{this post is up to date as of 26/12/15} 


	18. Get your copy!

Half a year has passed since my announcement of publishing a _Sand and Silk_ fanbook. I'm proud to say that my dream has been realized and that you can now buy your very own beautiful copy of _Sand and Silk!_

_ _

 

There are **5 different versions** for you to choose from, depending on your budget and preference!

1\. [Ebook format](http://www.blurb.com/ebooks/575083-sand-and-silk). This is the cheapest version as it’s digital and a little messy. If you don’t mind some extra spaces between the paragraphs and enjoy good content for under $10, this version is for you!

2\. [PDF format](http://www.blurb.com/b/7005546-sand-and-silk) **.** This edition is mainly aimed at the international crowd. The website the book is shipped from is based in the US, and as we all know, shipping from the US to anywhere else on the planet is ridiculously expensive. That’s why I’m offering a PDF you can buy, download and print in your own home. If this format is abused, I will remove it. 

3\. [Softcover.](http://www.blurb.com/b/7005546-sand-and-silk) This is the cheapest print edition.

4\. [Hardcover.](http://www.blurb.com/b/7005546-sand-and-silk) 

5\. [Hardcover with dust jacket](http://www.blurb.com/b/7005546-sand-and-silk)

 

_What does this fanbook include?_

 

* 192 pages 

* 18 full-color illustrations 

* Bonus content such as extra scenes (included in the story), character profiles and Q&A.

The artists include the talented [@mushrum](https://tmblr.co/mGhE5iSd-EvanYTK8lU5sYg), [@arianwen44](https://tmblr.co/mvI0O7ax2LTWDlWC8yDbGwA), [@n2015n](https://tmblr.co/mbRg47zjK6LOT9ecitRLiHA), [@candies-and-sweets](https://tmblr.co/mNdV8juMBPea3RjaZ7sK6xA), [@chunbunny](https://tmblr.co/mtwKn4aOn6xsBH9ph6LQ4Tw), [@eds-porn-factory](https://tmblr.co/mIVQLjtewKUdNXZuOO7mKnA), [@evenica](https://tmblr.co/mXytA1n9vbO5u6YcSshcguQ), [@kirarinsept](https://tmblr.co/meKccBAO2zPrgRJhXDL0VpQ),[@stanisacoolname](https://tmblr.co/mepPtT3uvqtxO0xOyChNM-w), [@varteah](https://tmblr.co/mpLI4BxsdRXe3xmKG5puDNQ) and [@xnotchii123](https://tmblr.co/mUJpU6VLzVsD0zmXOb15J9w) 


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